


An Orc Out of Time & The Dark Lady and The Mage

by Tsilky



Series: The Dark Lady and The Mage [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2020-11-09 02:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20845757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsilky/pseuds/Tsilky
Summary: One of the Mag'har is accidentally sent to the beginning of the events of World of Warcraft instead of the time he's meant to be. He struggles to find his place before eventually becoming one of the mightiest heroes Azeroth had ever seen.Jaina and Sylvanas had kept their relationship a secret in life. With one of them dead, what will change?Series of chapters spanning the WoW timeline.Interconnected chapters split between a Mag'har Orc and Jaina/Sylvanas.





	1. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Period: Alternate Timeline Draenor -> Slightly Before Classic WoW

**Mag’har Base, Draenor**

Granakk only hesitated for a few seconds, desperately looking between the advancing form of his Warchief, Grommash, and the retreating form of Overlord Geya’rah. He’d been taught from a young age to always fight when necessary, never give in to an enemy. And now, the almighty Grommash Hellscream had ordered all of the Mag’har including the young warrior to flee while he held the forces that assaulted them at bay. Every single one of his instincts were telling him to run after Hellscream and join the battle, slaughter all of the Draenei who dared attack them for rejecting their apparently perfect Light.

His logical mind won out. He knew that if he did what his body wanted, he’d die, and quickly at that. His feet turned before he could stop them, sprinting with the rest of the Mag’har away from the advancing Lightforged army. He could hear Grommash’s battle cry and subsequently the screams of his opponents as he dove headfirst into the waiting crowd. Despite his age, the Warchief of the Mag’har was still the fiercest warrior they had, greater than all that had come after him. Granakk only hoped he could be half the warrior his mentor was.

As he ran, he looked across at the Champion of the Horde that had come to help. From a different time and place, she’d come seeking allies and found them in the Mag’har. From what Granakk had heard, somehow the Champion had come to Draenor decades ago, chasing one of the people from her own time. According to Grommash however, she hadn’t aged a day. Granakk had struggled to wrap his head around the final part. What little he understood of magic came from his untrained shamanic abilities, and they had not prepared him for the short explanation of time magic he’d been given. Now, here was this woman, claiming she’d be able to send them all through a portal to not only a different place, but an entirely different timeline than the one he knew.

All of the Mag’har knew the stories of the invasion of their world, and how close they came to being utterly destroyed. Tanaan Jungle was still a mess all these years later, avoided at all costs. One of the heroes of that time, one of the saviours who’d driven the demons back, was now running alongside them. Granakk had been told she was something called a Blood Elf, though the name made no sense to him. There was nothing bloody about her. Clad in robes of blue and purple, he could feel the magic coming off them. They must have been powerful. The staff strapped across her back was the same, silvery metal handle with a pure white crystal floating off the top of it.

The Champion had been giving him strange looks the entire time she’d been on Draenor. He’d never had the chance to ask her why, and he’d made sure that she wasn’t looking at all of the Mag’har that way. It was just him. He’d seen some sort of recognition in her eyes, but every time she caught him looking back, she’d look away, quickly increasing the distance between them and ensuring he could never ask.

The Champion was muttering incantations even as she ran, blonde hair flowing out behind her. A small crystal between her hands slowly began to radiate magic, pulsing out from her and surrounding each of the Orcs in turn. Soon, they all had the same glow. Granakk looked down at himself, noticing his aura was slightly different. More chaotic than the ones around him. Before he could even think to ask, the Champion was ready.

“HERE WE GO!” Her hands came together in a resounding clap over the crystal, casting the spell. Every orc disappeared, leaving only clouds of dust in their wake. She’d done it. Rescued the Mag’har, and brought them to her world and time.

* * *

**Valley of Wisdom, Orgrimmar, Durotar**

The two groups of guards eyed each other warily, giving each other a wide berth. On one side, the Banshee Queen’s Dark Rangers. She’d brought only five with her to the meeting of the Horde’s leaders, but this was enough to set all of the guards of Orgrimmar on edge. On the other side, the three remaining groups, Cairne’s Tauren braves, Vol’jin’s shadow hunters and finally Thrall’s honour guard. The undead were quietly discussing something amongst themselves, only occasionally glancing at the other group, who couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away. The looks they gave spoke of the mistrust they all still felt for the last group to join the Horde.

The talking fell silent and all eyes were drawn a short distance away from Grommash hold, a few metres in the air. A deafening crack echoed through the valley, most of the people around the point clutching their ears at the sound. A pinpoint of light had appeared, growing in size and intensity by the second. All drew weapons and cautiously approached it.

**Warchief’s Chambers, Grommash Hold, Orgrimmar, Durotar**

The Banshee Queen drummed her fingers quietly on her armrest, trying to focus on the meeting she’d been forced to attend. Sylvanas only spoke when asked a direct question, choosing to remain silent at all other times. Of the three other occupants in the room, she knew only Thrall truly held even a semblance of trust for the undead elf. Cairne seemed to at least attempting a civilised relationship with both her and her people, but Vol’jin was an entirely different story.

The Troll would listen intently to every word she said, but the look in his eyes told Sylvanas everything she needed to know about what he truly believed. He would never voice his opinion openly, nor would he ever act on it, but his disdain for her was obvious. He would rather she be kept out of these Councils entirely, but he was not Warchief. Thrall had made it very clear to the other two that Sylvanas was their ally, and they would treat her as such.

Sylvanas’ fingers froze in their rhythm. She could feel an intense swirl of arcane energy nearby, unlike anything she’d felt in years. It sent a shiver up her spine, her long ears flicking at the disturbance. She abruptly stood up from the table, silencing the other three leaders and made her way to the door.

“Sylvanas?” Thrall’s question stopped her in her tracks.

The Dark Lady turned back to lock eyes with the Orc, “Surely you can feel that, Warchief?”

A look of confusion crossed Thrall’s face for barely more than a moment, before he too stood and heaved Doomhammer over his shoulder. Just as all four began to move, a boom of magic could be heard, shaking the fortress with its force, and causing Sylvanas to wince at the volume, ears pressed back against her head as one hand came up to clutch at the side of it. She quickly shook it off, leading the group through the halls. All four leaders quickly made their way through the fortress, towards the conflux of arcane energy.

**Valley of Wisdom, Orgrimmar, Durotar**

The point of magic had drawn a large crowd from all parts of the city, Orgrimmar guards working overtime to keep them all back. The guards of the Horde’s leaders all had their weapons drawn, eyeing the source of the commotion. Dark Rangers with their bows drawn, glaives in the hands of the Trolls, huge wooden totems filling the hands of the Tauren and axes combined with shields in the grip of the Orcs.

Sylvanas was the first to reach the Hold’s entrance, eyes instantly drawn to the source of the commotion she’d felt. She drew her own bow, pushing through the guards of her allies and getting through to the front. Cairne, Vol’jin and Thrall soon joined her.

Finally, the orb of magic fulfilled its purpose. A portal opened at that exact point, something falling out and landing on the ground, hard. Instantly, the portal disappeared, leaving a very confused crowd.

Granakk grunted from the impact, picking himself up from the ground, rising to his hands and knees. His head still swam with the time magic’s energy, unable to fully focus his eyes. The red earth beneath him finally came back into focus. He staggered to his feet, noticing his surroundings… the weapons… all pointed at him.

The Mag’har Orc drew his own weapons, huge twin axes from across his back. Small sparks of lightning ran up and down the handle, fizzling out at the end of the blades. He eyed the staggering number of enemies arrayed before him, trying to think of a way out of it, coming up with nothing. The twang of a bowstring being released caught his attention, his instincts taking over. One axe moved just in time, deflecting the arrow with barely an instant to spare. Sylvanas watched with interest, annoyed that her Dark Ranger couldn’t keep herself in check, but impressed with this Orc’s ability to nullify the attack nonetheless.

Granakk looked at his attacker, an elf, but unlike the Champion on Draenor. This one had bluish-purple skin and glowing red eyes, clad in menacing black leather. He took a step towards her before his eyes flashed across to another Orc standing at the front of the crowd. His plate armour was black and gold, his skin a bright green, but that was not what had drawn the Mag’har’s attention. The hammer in his hand, one that Granakk had seen countless times, which should have been currently sitting in Grommash Hellscream’s armoury.

He raised one axe, pointed directly at the Warchief of the Horde, “Where did you get that?” His words were practically growled, threatening the Orc standing opposite them.

The Warchief showed none of the hostility this new Orc within the Horde’s capital was displaying, “I’m sorry?”

“Doomhammer!” He nearly yelled the word, “How do you have it?”

Thrall could see that this young Orc was confused at the situation, trying to calm him as best he could, “Orgrim Doomhammer gave it to me years ago. I have kept it with me ever since.”

This seemed to calm the enraged Mag’har, his axe slowly lowering back to his side, but never quite leaving a battle-ready stance. Perhaps in this timeline, Orgrim had not been murdered by Blackhand and the Doomhammer had not been eventually recovered from his fortress.

Thrall stepped towards the stranger, only now noticing that the Orc was quite large when compared to even the largest Orcs he’d seen. The Mag’har stood a head above the Warchief, well over seven feet tall if not close to eight. “You made quite an entrance. Where have you come from?”

Granakk’s brow creased with confusion, “Draenor.” Thrall’s eyes widened with shock, Granakk noticing and only increasing his confusion, “Was I not expected? Where are the rest of my people? They should’ve have arrived as well.”

Thrall gave a short chuckled, “I can’t say we were expecting anyone to fall out of a portal today in the middle of Orgrimmar.” His tone became far more serious, “As for your people... I am not sure. Perhaps come inside and we can discuss this turn of events?”

Granakk nodded, stowing his weapons on his back and following the Warchief inside the hold. The three other leaders exchanged glances before too following the two Orcs inside. The crowd quickly dispersed, the guards of the four leaders going back to glaring at each other with suspicion and conversations of what had just transpired.

**Warchief’s Chambers, Grommash Hold, Orgrimmar, Durotar**

They all listened with great interest to Granakk’s tale, choosing not to interrupt him at any point. Sylvanas said not a single word even while the other three peppered him with questions, knowing she’d get more out of this Orc alone. If what he said was true, he wasn’t even from their timeline. At some point in the future, they would all travel to an alternate Draenor from the past. One where the Orc’s rejected the Legion’s offer of power in trade for their free will.

Unfortunately for them, Granakk had been born after the intruders from Azeroth had left, so his knowledge of the time was limited to stories, and from what the Banshee could tell, his elders had been more than secretive about that time, preferring to bury most of what occurred.

Sylvanas could still feel the residue of the arcane power on Granakk, every instinct telling the elf something was wrong with it. She leant forward in her chair, and began speaking in a lull of their conversation, “I have a theory.” Thrall nodded at his ally to continue, “You were betrayed.”

The Mag’har narrowed his eyes at the small being in front of him. She was just like the others outside, almost the same as the one who had nearly shot him. But there was something different about this one. More… powerful. More… in control.

The Dark Lady kept speaking, ignoring Granakk’s suspicion, “The mage who sent you here… if the rest of your compatriots have not arrived, she has betrayed you.” She sat back, nonchalantly throwing a leg over the armrest of her chair, “She has sent you to this time instead of the one she was supposed to.” Everyone around the table began to protest at Sylvanas’ suggestion, “What? She had the ability to send hundreds of his people to the right place and time, but she screws up just one of them? I find that highly unlikely.”

Granakk decided in that moment he liked this elf. She said what she thought without giving a damn what other people thought of it. He noticed the looks all the others except for the Orc gave her, mistrust and close to outright disgust. The creature with the horns hid it well, but the tusked one did not. It was plain as day across his face.

The Warchief sighed heavily, “It does seem probable, but extremely difficult to prove.” He paused, scratching at the side of his face. He suddenly lit up with an idea, “All magic leaves a signature!” All except Sylvanas looked utterly confused, “We just need someone who can read it. But I can’t think of anyone within Orgrimmar with the knowledge necessary to understand something this complicated.”

Sylvanas whispered a suggestion, almost hoping the Warchief would not hear it, “The Kirin Tor.”

“Aye.” Thrall nodded his agreement. “Perhaps Jaina would be willing to assist.” Sylvanas bristled at the mention of this person, ears pressing back against her hood, only Granakk seeming to notice her reaction. “I will send a message.”

The Forsaken leader abruptly stood up, making for the door, “I will return to the Undercity,” She seemed to suddenly remember who she was in the room with, “If there was nothing else you needed, Warchief?”

Thrall was slightly perturbed by her abrupt departure, but did not speak his thoughts, “No, Lady Windrunner. You may go.”

Sylvanas gave a bow that looked almost sarcastic to Granakk before disappearing from their company. He almost laughed at it, but chose to keep to the seriousness of the room. He turned back to the Warchief, “I must admit… this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting when I came here.”

Thrall smiled at the young Orc, “Perhaps not. But you are welcome to join the Horde. Your skill outside was impressive. Not many warriors could reflect an arrow from that close range, and even without any warning. Who trained you?”

Granakk looked down at the ground, “My Warchief, Grommash Hellscream. He always said he saw potential in me.”

“Grom…” Thrall’s eyes grew nostalgic as he thought of his old friend, “A hero in both our times it seems.”

“You knew him?”

The green Orc nodded, “One of the greatest people I have ever known. Saved all of our people from the demons.”

Granakk laughed, “Certainly sounds like him.” His expression grew sombre, “He… held off an army while we escaped. He’s dead in both times now I suppose.” The Mag’har had avoided mentioning the Lightforged army, only saying they’d been attacked by their enemy. He’d tried to hold off telling them as much as possible, unsure of how what he said might affect things. Luckily, he’d never payed much attention as a child to the stories, so he didn’t know much about that invasion of Draenor at any rate.

Thrall frowned, soon brightening, “A warrior’s death. Just as he deserved.” The Warchief rose from his seat, “Come. I will make the necessary preparations and we will test Lady Windrunner’s theory.”

* * *

**Theramore Outskirts, Dustwallow Marsh**

Thrall and Granakk sat around a small fire, waiting for the mage they wanted to appear. The younger Orc kept turning his eyes to the city in the distance, unsure of Thrall’s choice of location. The fact that the city apparently housed the Horde’s enemies and that they would definitely be able to see the smoke from their fire did nothing to dissuade Thrall from choosing this particular spot to make camp. The night air was cool and damp, the swamp’s humidity almost oppressively wrapping them up.

“Hello, Thrall.”

Granakk jumped at the sudden invasion of their camp, leaping to his feet and drawing an axe. He relaxed when Thrall pushed the weapon down with a hand, a slight smile on his face.

“Good to see you again, Jaina.”

Jaina lowered the hood of the heavy cloak she wore, grinning at the Warchief, “I was surprised to receive your message, but I couldn’t resist a mystery like this.” She turned toward Granakk, eyeing him thoughtfully, “It really does permeate the air, doesn’t it? I could feel it nearly all the way in Theramore.”

Granakk watched this Human woman carefully. She seemed harmless enough at first glance, but he could sense immense power lurking just beneath the surface. She’d managed to sneak up on both him and he thought the Warchief, though maybe Thrall had known she was there and just did nothing to warn him of her approach. Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and kindness, trying her best not to seem intimidating to the Orc. Granakk knew that most of his kind would not be scared of such a small creature, but most of them had no magical ability and would’ve had no way to simply sense the power streaming from her.

Jaina seemed to remember something, holding out her hand in greeting, “Oh, where are my manners? Jaina Proudmoore.”

Granakk shook the offered gesture uncertainly, his huge brown hand dwarfing her pale one, “Granakk.”

The mage turned back to Thrall, “You didn’t really put that much into the message. ‘_Tampered with time magic_’ is interesting, but it doesn’t really explain anything.”

“I thought it better to explain in person. I don’t pretend to understand any of what has happened aside from that it did.” Thrall sat back down on the stump he’d been on before, “I was hoping you could tell us more to be honest.”

Jaina’s face brightened with a wide smile, “First things first then,” She turned back to Granakk, “Tell me everything leading up to arriving here.”

Granakk began the short tale, Thrall inserting small pieces of information when needed. Granakk finished speaking, Thrall continuing with one last point, “Lady Windrunner suggested this theory. It seemed the only plausible thing at the time.”

Jaina straightened up slightly at the mention of the elf, “Sylva-” She cut herself off quickly, “Lady Windrunner thought of this?” She seemed slightly lost in her thoughts for a moment, “And she didn’t come with you?”

Thrall shook his head, not seeming to notice Jaina’s sudden discomfort, “She returned to the Undercity rather abruptly.”

“Of course.” Jaina shook her head, bringing her attention back to Granakk, holding out both hands, “May I?” The Mag’har held his hand out, taken in between Jaina’s two smaller ones. She turned it over, running her hands up and down his brown skin. Her fingers glowed briefly with a small amount of arcane magic, the strands travelling up his arm before disappearing into the air. “This may hurt a little. Apologies in advance.”

Before Granakk could ask her to define a little, she cast a spell, purple runes appearing under her hands and connecting with the skin of his arms. A searing pain shot out from the point of contact, almost making Granakk collapse to his knees. He grit his teeth and simply grunted, screwing his eyes shut and attempting to ignore it.

Jaina let go, Granakk immediately slumping backwards to sit down. She grimaced, “Sorry. It generally isn’t that painful, but the magnitude of this spell is quite extraordinary.”

“It’s fine.” He rubbed at his arm, aftershocks of the spell still travelling through his flesh. He swallowed, almost whispering, “Was she right?”

She almost didn’t want to answer, “She was. The mage who was helping your people deliberately sabotaged the spell, I could feel something was wrong with it. The where was only tweaked slightly from what I could tell, but the when was changed by years. And I may be wrong, but it seems only _you_ were betrayed. It would require a significant amount of skill to do any more than that. I’m sorry.”

Granakk felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His heart was heavy thinking of his people wondering where he was, wherever and whenever they actually were. He looked back up at the Human, “Thank you… for telling me.”

“Of course.” She began to walk back towards the city in the distance, turning back, “If you need me for anything else, let me know.” She was speaking mostly towards Thrall, but Granakk felt like it might have been directed at him as well, however slightly. She pulled her hood up before vanishing completely from sight, only an almost imperceptible trail of footprints showing her location.

The two Orcs remained silent for several minutes, mulling over what they’d learned. Thrall was the first to speak, “I was hoping you’d learn a little more than that, but Jaina would have found it if there was anything else.” He could see his words did little to help the young Orc. “What do you plan to do now?”

Granakk looked up, surprised by the question. “I’m not entirely sure… The Champion who came to us said they needed help with a war, but little else.”

Thrall pondered his words, “We are not strictly at war right now, though there are skirmishes across Azeroth.”

“I suppose I’ll do exactly what I planned to do if I’d come to the right time.” He smiled at the Warchief, “Learn and fight, for all I’m worth.”

Thrall rose, holding out a hand to help Granakk up, “We could always use more warriors.” He eyed the Mag’har for a moment, “And more shaman.”

The Mag’har balked at the observation, “I’m not much of a shaman really. I’ve always found it a bit difficult to grasp.”

The Warchief could sense the conflicting emotional turmoil within the young Orc, recognising it as something he too had once struggled with and had dampened his own shamanic abilities. “Perhaps you just need a teacher.” Thrall hefted Doomhammer, sending a brief shock of lightning through the ancient weapon, “I can help there.”

Granakk smiled, “Maybe so.”

Thrall held out his hand, Granakk grasping him by the forearm, “Welcome to the Horde.”


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Period: A Week after Arrival

**Royal Throne Room, Undercity, Tirisfal Glades**

Sylvanas sat back in her throne, reading over the report Thrall had sent on their new ally. He detailed exactly what Jaina had said about the Orc, and that Sylvanas had been right about the supposed Champion of the Horde’s betrayal. Being proven correct when everyone else doubted you usually put a smile on Sylvanas’ face, but she found it only soured her mood. Her guards could sense her displeasure, the Dark Rangers standing a few more steps away than they normally would. If the Forsaken near the door could still sweat, they would have been standing in puddles from how afraid they were of their Queen’s disposition.

Thrall also wrote that he would personally train this new member of the Horde, having sensed shamanic abilities within him and Granakk having admitted that he had them himself. Sylvanas could have told him that from the start. Being a Banshee had few perks, being able to sense magic in others was one of these few. The moment the Mag’har had fallen from his portal, Sylvanas had seen the untapped power within him. While not the most powerful shaman on Azeroth, he would certainly be more than capable of defeating almost any enemy he may come across. And if what she’d seen of his martial ability was any indication, he was already well trained in the art of war. It would make him a powerful and useful ally.

The Dark Lady sighed, folding the report and secreting it in a small pocket on her armour. It would not do for some random member of the Horde to stumble on a potentially valuable piece of intel. She would ensure this Orc would become her Champion, at least in some capacity. Being raised away from the other Orcs of the Horde gave Sylvanas a unique opportunity to educate him on who truly had power within their ranks, and who he could get the most out of. It didn’t hurt that she could further her own goals by using him.

The doors of her throne room slammed open, an Orc sprinting up towards her throne before seeming to remember where he was, immediately folding into a reverent bow. “My Lady.” He straightened, Sylvanas’ narrowing her eyes at him before giving a subtle nod for him to continue. He looked to the Dark Rangers currently resting hands on the hilts of their swords, prepared to strike at any moment. He swallowed his fear before turning his gaze back to the Queen. “I have an important message. I was asked to deliver it to you without delay.”

He held out a sealed parchment. From what Sylvanas could see, there was no emblem on the dark blue wax seal, giving no indication of who may have sent the missive. She rose from her throne, taking slow strides towards the Orc. He avoided his gaze, bowing his head and staring a hole into the floor. He was significantly larger than the elf, but she was far more intimidating.

The instant her fingers touched the parchment, she drew an involuntary sharp breath into her chest. Sylvanas had no need to breathe, but sometimes her body would do it out of habit or instinct. She knew who the message was from immediately. She stared at the Orc for several moments, trying to figure out how in the hell he would have gotten this message.

“Get out.” The Orc began to slowly back away at the Banshee Queen’s command. Sylvanas looked around the room, clutching the letter tight in her hand. “**GET OUT, ALL OF YOU!**” Her shriek almost came out as a Banshee’s wail, the severity of disobeying her order obvious to everyone. The occupants of the room began to scramble towards the exit, fearing the wrath of the Dark Lady. All except for her Dark Rangers, having not moved a single muscle to make for the exit. In general, they would be correct at ignoring this sort of order. But not today. “**WHAT PART OF ‘_ALL OF YOU_’, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!**”

The other undead elves looked between themselves before bowing to their ruler and marching out in perfect military precision. The last two grabbed the throne room’s doors, swinging them shut behind them.

Sylvanas stared at the paper in her hands. How had this gotten here? So many security measures had to have failed for this to have reached her undetected. She would have to investigate that later, ensuring whoever was responsible would pay dearly for their misstep.

The Banshee Queen fell heavily into her throne, reaching up with a slightly trembling hand and breaking the seal on the message. The paper unfurled, releasing a pleasant smell of sea salt and floral undertones. Sylvanas breathed deeply at the invasion of her senses, memories flashing through her mind unbidden. She shook her head, casting the thoughts back into the part of her mind that she locked away, trying to forget about all of those events. She began to read the letter with some trepidation.

_Lady Sylvanas Windrunner,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and you do not look too harshly on your subject who delivered it. I’m sure you believe they failed, but I had to make sure you got it. Blame me, if anyone, for their failure._

_I was surprised to meet with Warchief Thrall and a new member of the Horde, who I’m told literally fell out of the sky. Quite an interesting case that one. I’ve never felt magic like that, it seems rather unique. And he’s a shaman as well, quite a powerful one, though I’m no expert._

_I’m also told it was your idea in the first place to reach out to me, and if not to me exactly, at least to the Kirin Tor. Thank you for that. You don’t know how much it means to me that you would._

_Thrall has most likely already informed you, but you were right. Granakk was indeed betrayed by whoever travelled to his time. The magic was altered in such a specific way, I can’t help but feel that she was asked to do it and also told exactly when and where to send him instead of where I presume the rest of his people ended up. It can’t be a coincidence. He must have some part to play in our future we are unaware of. I question whether Granakk himself knows, or is he just as in the dark as the rest of us._

The letter stopped for several lines, only resuming near the bottom. Sylvanas could see that there had been several versions of the next part written over and over, scrubbed out with magic before being started again.

_I know there are many things I should say to you. I know there are many things I should feel that I don’t and things I shouldn’t that I do. I don’t think any of it can be put down properly in a letter, nor should it be. If you feel the same way I do… still feel the same way… please meet me where we used to go alone._

_I’ll be there in two days’ time._

_Yours,_

_J.P._

The parchment almost fell from Sylvanas’ hands, only just being caught as it began to droop towards the ground. She had not been expecting this. Was not prepared for this. The Dark Lady had avoided thinking about her entire life before she’d been killed as much as possible. It was both too painful and pointless to do. Everyone who knew her then was either dead or wanted nothing to do with an undead version of her. If she was honest with herself, she couldn’t blame them. She hoped she’d be different in their shoes, but knew that wasn’t true.

Thoughts and feelings she’d buried for years came bubbling to the surface, her expression set in a blank stare forward. The hand holding the paper slowly tightened, scrunching the edge up and tearing it slightly. Realising what she was she doing, she slowly let go, folding the letter into the same pocket as Thrall’s report. She stalked out of the throne room, going straight towards her private chambers. She had a trip to prepare for.

* * *

**Western Eversong Woods**

Sylvanas walked under the trees, her feet taking a well-remembered path toward her destination. The forest was quiet, only the wind rustling through the trees making any noise. Animal life moved out of her way, seeming to know what fate would befall them if they dared get in her way. She was glad for that, too focused on her task to be in the mood for any sort of mercy.

She was dressed in black leather with a heavy hood and cloak covering her form. It would not do to be recognised here after all these years, even if the current inhabitants would likely not come out this way. She’d done away with the dark red and purple armour she normally wore, feeling it was the wrong thing to wear in this particular situation. Wearing armour to a meeting such as this was inviting conflict. Only her long ears poked out from small holes in her hood, too uncomfortable to keep them squashed underneath it. From a distance, she’d just look like a random elf, and no one would bother her.

Sylvanas came to a stop some distance away from the small house. More than a century ago, she’d constructed the two-storey dwelling as a place to get away from everything if she ever needed to. It had seen little use until a little over a decade ago, when Sylvanas had spent weeks at a time here, finding herself unable to get enough time to be here. During that time, she’d set up dozens of wards to ensure no one but those she wanted to would ever be able to get anywhere near it. Sylvanas closed her eyes, still feeling the magic thrumming through the air, satisfied that she’d cast them properly and that they still worked.

A sudden thought occurred to the Banshee Queen. What if she would no longer be able to pass through the defences? She had not been back here since her reanimation. The wards had been specifically cast for her when she was alive, but now that she was dead, would they activate and prevent her from getting anywhere near the building? There was only one way to find out.

Sylvanas took a tentative step forward, screwing her eyes shut. Nothing happened. She took another, and then another, and before she knew it, she’d made it to the door. She looked back over the field of grass, seeing no change in the magical defences. She breathed a sigh of relief, opening the door and stepping inside the structure.

It was exactly as she had left it years ago. A fine layer of dust lay over everything, giving the entire room an almost ghostly appearance. Sylvanas decided it was appropriate for the situation, opting to leave it as it was. She strode over to the empty fireplace, sitting down on the small rug and crossing her legs. She closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself and waiting for the arrival of her guest.

***

The elf’s ears flicked at a sound. A familiar one. The opening and subsequent shutting of a portal. The presence of a magic she had not felt in years. Had not been wrapped up in for years. It felt like home, but at the same time a reminder of a past best left dead and forgotten. She’d changed, she’d had to. This would be no different.

The front door opened and shut, disturbing the dust throughout the room. The unmistakeable scent of sea salt wafted over Sylvanas’ seated form. She stifled the reaction to breathe it in, stopping the memory from clouding her judgement in this moment. Her ears flicked once more at the sound of light breathing, just the barest hint of the voice of its owner.

“I almost didn’t think you’d come.” Jaina’s voice filled the room, breaking the almost absolute silence that had fallen over Sylvanas for several hours. She did not reply, staring into the small fire she’d started in the hearth. Jaina swallowed, trying to find the right words, “I’m glad you did.”

Sylvanas didn’t move a muscle, waiting for the human to continue. The mage had been the one to start this reunion, she’d have to figure out how to move it forward. Sylvanas would not help her there. Her plan was to not say a word and completely close this chapter of her life. The fact that her old life even pursued Sylvanas in undeath was greatly infuriating to her. Everyone else had accepted that she was dead, the Ranger-General of Silvermoon was gone, and nothing could bring her back. Whatever they thought of her current state was beside the point. What did this human think to gain by dredging up the past?

Jaina stared at the back of Sylvanas’ head, hoping the elf would say something. She knew Sylvanas had no intention of it, that much was obvious. More than likely, Jaina was wasting her time here. But, her drive for understanding of all things would not let her go without turning over every stone. Her eyes flicked over the ears poking out of the back of the black cloth hood. She recognised them, but at the same time, they were different. Sylvanas’ skin was now a bluish purple, utterly different from the sun-kissed glow Jaina had known.

“The whole way here, I’ve been trying to think of what to say to you. I even delayed opening the portal. I knew the moment I did, I’d have to face you, no matter if I was ready or not.” Sylvanas had not expected this. The Banshee Queen had been expecting anger or sorrow. Without her consciously doing it, her ears turned slightly to hear Jaina better. “When I heard you were still alive, I was ecstatic. Beyond relieved. I’d mourned for months, unable to tell anyone the exact reason why. But then, I’d been granted my dearest wish.” Her voice was thick with emotion, Sylvanas still staying unmoving. “But after all that… I heard what had happened to you. How my mourning had not been for nothing. You had died. No two ways about it.

“You’d been brought back, but not in the way I’d hoped. You’d broken free of-” Jaina struggled to think about her one time betrothed, “-_his_ control. And gathered what you could of your new brethren, protected them and did the only thing you could have done. Joined the Horde.” Sylvanas could tell from her tone that Jaina disagreed with her actions regarding her allegiance with the Alliance’s enemies, but knew that human did not begrudge the decision. There was no anger in her voice. “I was happy for you, truly. You’d come back from some of the worst circumstances imaginable and thrived despite them.”

Jaina paused, letting her words sink in. Sylvanas had no idea where the human was going with her speech. Talking of her triumph over the monster who had ended her life, and started her unlife, was not exactly the best way to put Sylvanas in a talkative mood.

“You’ve changed into a different person since then. I know that. I’ve changed as well… we both have.” Jaina had been staring at the ground the whole time she’d been speaking, unwilling to look at Sylvanas’ unmoving form and lose her nerve. She finally gave in, looking up, “I have to know… do you remember what we were? Do you remember anything… from before? Do you remem-”

“**ENOUGH!**” Sylvanas’ scream cut through the air, her Banshee form coming through unbidden, black smoke coiling around her limbs. Sylvanas surged to her feet, spinning on her heel and staring dangerously forward at the young human with glowing red eyes. Jaina backed away a step, fear coming through in her own icy blue eyes. Sylvanas moved forward, supernaturally fast, only stopping when Jaina was pressed up against the wall and they were little more than a foot apart. “_I_. _Remember_. _Everything_.” The words were hissed in the mages’ face, pure rage creasing Sylvanas’ visage, “I _remember_ Frostmourne being plunged into my chest and piercing straight through my heart. I _remember_ as that monster ripped the soul from my dying corpse and twisted me into the monster you see now. I _remember_ butchering and slaughtering the people I’d sworn to protect. I _remember _him LAUGHING as I did it. I _remember_ being trapped in a place so dark, so small and so cold I could only watch myself as I was twisted even further to suit his needs.”

Jaina could do nothing but stare into Sylvanas’ eyes. So similar to the ones she’d known before, yet so different. All the small imperfections in the colouring were still there, but shifted into different hues. Where once was the deepest blue she’d ever seen, there was now red, where once was flecks of green, there was now a deep purple, almost black.

“**_I. REMEMBER. EVERYTHING!_**” Close to the full force of Sylvanas’ Banshee form exploded outwards, a strong gale of wind blasting every surface clean of the dust that had settled. The fire that had been crackling in the hearth was snuffed out with the force of the wind. Somehow, she’d managed to channel it everywhere but at Jaina, only a slight breeze blowing the mage’s golden locks away from her face.

Every fibre of Jaina’s being was telling her to run. Telling her that it wasn’t safe here with Sylvanas and she needed to get out before it was too late. The unadulterated fury in Sylvanas’ eyes would have been more than enough to send anyone sprinting from the Dark Lady, screaming as they did. But Jaina was not just anyone. And she would not leave till she got an answer out of Sylvanas. She whispered meekly, not breaking eye contact with the slightly taller elf, “If you remember everything, then surely you remember me.”

“I-” Sylvanas’ unrestrained wrath diminished by the second. She had not been prepared for this confrontation, not in the slightest. Her chest tightened as the memories of Jaina from before she died rushed back to her, the highs and lows barraging her undead mind. She took a step back, turning from the human and wrapping her arms around herself. Sylvanas began to whisper, but Jaina could hear every word as though she were yelling them, “I _remember_ meeting you for the first time in Silvermoon. I_ remember_ thinking that Kael’thas didn’t deserve such a beautiful companion, and how astounded I was when you said you weren’t together. I _remember_ leading you around the city and how excited you were to be there, though I’d catch you sneaking glances at me every now and then, and you’d catch me doing the same.” The words kept tumbling from Sylvanas’ lips, unable to stop them, “I _remember_ the first time we kissed, and thinking I never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again. I _remember_ the first time we were,” Sylvanas swallowed, unsure exactly where she was going with this, “…together. I _remember_ when you told me you loved me and for the first time in my entire centuries-long life, I actually meant it when I said it back.

“_I. Remember. Everything._” Sylvanas last whispered words echoed for a moment, Jaina standing in stunned silence behind her. Sylvanas felt herself trembling as tears prickled her vision. Her legs felt like they would give out at any moment. Before she knew what was happening, a hand fell lightly onto her shoulder, turning her entire body around into an embrace. Arms wrapped around her neck, one hand cradling the back of her head through the cloth hood. Sylvanas’ entire body froze at the contact, very aware of the golden hair pressed against her cheek and the scent of sea salt she’d been avoiding getting lost in since the mage had opened the door. Sylvanas reacted without thinking, her arms raising up by themselves and wrapping around Jaina’s midsection. She pulled them flush together, relaxing completely into the intimate gesture. “I thought you’d hate me.”

“I could never.” The mage’s words were said right next to Sylvanas’ ear, spreading relief through the elf’s body. Jaina relaxed her arms slightly, pulling back just enough to gently tug the hood off of Sylvanas’ head, carefully avoiding hurting her ears. Sylvanas’ own blond, nearly white, hair was released, cascading over her shoulders.

Jaina reached up, tucking some of Sylvanas’ hair behind an ear before cupping the elf’s cheek. Sylvanas leant into the contact, shutting her eyes. Since regaining control of herself, Sylvanas had had little contact beyond shaking hands and combat training. If she was honest with herself, she’d missed it. And Jaina’s touch was intoxicating, almost electrifying with how it sent pulses through her nerves. Jaina’s significant magical talent meant her skin was positively radiating arcane energy, something Sylvanas had delighted in during her life. Being a High Elf meant she had to surround herself with magic, and the Sunwell had usually done that well enough, but being near Jaina had always felt better somehow. Even now, when she had no need for such a dependence, Sylvanas shuddered with pleasure at the contact.

Jaina smiled warmly at Sylvanas, happy that she’d gotten through to her. She was surprised at how the elf’s skin felt. She was cool to the touch, completely unlike the warmth Jaina had previously known of her. She presumed it came with being undead, but it wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, just different.

Suddenly, Sylvanas’ eyes snapped open, carefully reaching up and removing Jaina’s hand from her cheek. She shook her head, “We can’t do this.”

“What, why?” Jaina felt her joy start to crack apart.

The elf summoned all of the tenderness she could muster, surprising herself, “Jaina… you know why.” The Banshee Queen sighed, letting go of the mage’s hand. “Before, the risk was only to ourselves. The worst I would’ve gotten was a slap on the wrist if we were discovered. You might have been barred from Silvermoon or just sent back to Dalaran.” Sylvanas could feel her own relief that Jaina didn’t hate her slipping away, “Now… us being together could start a war.”

“But we can hide. Just like before. No one will ever find out.” Jaina’s stammering words felt like a knife through her own heart.

“And when someone does?” Sylvanas was trying to stay logical, trying to ignore the pain that her words were causing both her and the woman in front of her. “Do you really think anyone in the Alliance or Horde will just ignore a relationship between the ‘Banshee Queen’ and the ‘Ruler of Theramore’?”

Sylvanas began to back away towards the door. Jaina knew she was right. Knew that wanting to continue their relationship was dangerous. But she wouldn’t let it go… couldn’t let it go. “No.” Sylvanas turned to stare at her, hand on the door knob to outside. “They won’t ignore it. And neither will I.” Jaina was resolute in her feelings. “I want this, Sylvanas. And I know you do too. Our relationship was a risk then, and I know it’s a risk now. But isn’t that risk worth it? Isn’t the happiness of being together worth it? We were more than careful when there wasn’t so much on the line. And now, we both have influence enough to dissuade any questions about us.”

The Dark Lady stared into Jaina’s eyes, knowing she meant every single word. She took her hand off the door, turning to face the human fully. She crossed her arms, wrestling with the turmoil of the decision. “If we do this… it won’t be very often we can see each other.” A dazzling smile crossed Jaina’s face, the edges of Sylvanas’ own lips curling upwards. “If you still want this, I’m willing to try.”

Jaina took a few steps forward, almost leaping at Sylvanas. Her arms wrapped around the Banshee’s neck, pressing their lips together in a heated kiss. Sylvanas stumbled back a step before catching their combined weight on a single leg with ease. She kissed the human back, leaning into her and deepening their connection as her hands settled on the mages hips and tugged her closer. Eventually, they separated, Jaina almost completely out of breath. She leaned her forehead against Sylvanas', a huge grin on her face, staring into her eyes. “It’ll be worth it.”


	3. Promises and Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Period: Straight after Reunion

**Western Eversong Woods**

Jaina was very aware of the weight on her bare chest, but she didn’t dare move. Her mind slowly awoke, breathing in the scent that seemed to follow Sylvanas everywhere she went. Flowers, forests and an indescribable combination of other aromas. Even now, it was exactly the same. In whatever other ways Sylvanas had changed in the years since they’d last been with each other, this was not one of them. The scent was unquestionably Sylvanas, and it was all Jaina could do to not go back to sleep with dreams of the elf.

The arms currently wrapped around Jaina’s waist tightened themselves slightly, pulling their bodies even closer together, if that was even possible. Beneath the covers, every inch of skin that could be touching was pressed hard up against the other. Their legs were tangled together, and Jaina noted hers still felt weak from the previous night’s… activities.

After several years apart, Jaina and Sylvanas had wasted no time in catching up. Jaina had talked for an hour about what she’d been doing, leaving nothing out. The whole time, Sylvanas listened with the utmost attention, a goofy smile that Jaina remembered from their time together creasing her face. It was completely at odds with what she’d heard of the Banshee Queen, but perfect for what she knew of Sylvanas.

For her part, Sylvanas left much of what had happened to her out. She trusted Jaina like no other, but those memories were far too painful to share with anyone, at least for now. Maybe one day she’d find a way to deal with them, but for now, Jaina would only hear parts of her story. The details became far less sparse the closer they got to the present. Sylvanas had detailed sneaking into Orgrimmar, getting all the way to the Warchief’s chamber for an audience, asking for an alliance for her new-found people. Her initial attempts had been rebuffed; several messengers killed by the Horde. She hadn’t blamed them; many people were present for the Scourge’s invasions and reacted without thinking. Somehow the Tauren had become involved, Archdruid Hamuul Runetotem personally insisting that Thrall meet with the Forsaken and offer them an alliance. The Warchief had been initially sceptical, refusing to entertain the idea. Unbeknownst to Sylvanas, he had finally decided to allow a meeting between them the day before she’d snuck into meet with him. He had almost attacked Sylvanas before realising who she was, apologising and offering the alliance right then and there. It had been hard to accept, Sylvanas had not yet met anyone who was so welcoming of her new state before that point, but accepted nonetheless.

Drawing closer to the present events, they’d both fallen quiet. There wasn’t much else to say. For some time, little of significance had happened, just the day to day struggles of living in a world constantly in turmoil.

Sylvanas had decided to fill the silence, leaning forward, almost hesitantly. Jaina had done the same, both unsure if this was the right time. Sylvanas made up their minds for them, capturing the mage’s lips with her own. She’d ran her hands down Jaina’s side, only breaking the kiss so she could properly lift Jaina up. Hands on her thighs, Jaina responded by wrapping her legs around Sylvanas’ waist, allowing the elf to carry her upstairs to the bedroom they’d shared so many times.

And now, here they were, Sylvanas still sound asleep and Jaina trying not to wake her. Thoughts of whether Sylvanas even needed to sleep came and were quickly banished from Jaina’s mind. That was for another time. Now, she would just enjoy the feeling of Sylvanas as close as she could be.

This glorious feeling she’d known many times before, but was still utterly different. For one, Sylvanas was no longer the tanned woman Jaina remembered. The bluish-purple of her new skin tone had at first been a shock, but now the young mage couldn’t decide which one she liked better. Her skin somehow felt smoother, the bumps, scars and general imperfections of Sylvanas’ skin were gone, replaced by an utterly flawless surface. Jaina had enjoyed exploring it the previous night.

Instead of the warmth she’d known of Sylvanas years ago, the elf was cool to the touch, all traces of that heat gone. Even Sylvanas was unsure of it, her hesitation had manifested the moment she’d lain Jaina down on the bed. It all but evaporated when Jaina had sat up, reaching around her back and immediately started unfastening the knots keeping the leather firmly over her chest. From there, she was almost too hasty, nearly ripping both her leather and Jaina’s robes in her haste to get them off. Luckily, Jaina had slowed her down enough to prevent it and savour the moment.

Jaina couldn’t stay still any longer. She gently ran her fingers through Sylvanas’ platinum locks, earning an almost silent moan from the woman herself. Her arms relaxed slightly as her eyes fluttered open, a gentle smile coming to her lips as Jaina came into view. Jaina laughed softly at how Sylvanas’ ears perked up as soon as she saw what she was laying on. Sylvanas shifted her head slightly, resting her chin at the top of Jaina’s breast.

“A good view to wake up to.” Sylvanas gave a toothy grin, her glowing red eyes lighting up Jaina’s face.

“Just to wake up to?” Jaina quirked an eyebrow slightly, teasing the elf currently wrapped around her.

Sylvanas responded quickly, untangling their limbs before straddling Jaina’s thighs, bracing her hands on either side of the mage’s head. “Of course, when else would I want to see this?” She leant down, pressing her lips to Jaina’s and swallowing any response the human might have had. It quickly became more heated, Jaina wrapping her arms around Sylvanas’ neck to pull her closer.

Jaina shifted her weight, rolling them over till she was on top. Sylvanas gently bit down on the mage’s bottom lip, just hard enough to elicit a gasp from her throat. Jaina pulled back in mock shock, glaring down at Sylvanas’ grinning face, hair splayed out around her head. They stayed apart for a few moments, simply staring as though it was the first time seeing each other. Sylvanas raised a hand, stroking Jaina’s cheek, the human closing her eyes and leaning into the touch.

Much to Sylvanas’ confusion, the smile disappeared from Jaina’s face as a few tears rolled down her cheek, quickly wiped away with the elf’s thumb. Sylvanas sat up, bringing the other hand up to cradle Jaina’s face from both sides. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Jaina couldn’t hold it in any longer, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks as she pulled Sylvanas in closer. “I thought I’d lost you.” Words came out through her sobbing, burying her face into Sylvanas’ neck and fisting her platinum hair.

Sylvanas wrapped her arms around Jaina, one hand holding the back of her head while the other stroked her back. “Never again. I promise.”

Jaina pulled back slightly, just enough to look Sylvanas in the eyes, “How can you know that? We’re on the opposite sides of this fucking war and-”

The elf’s hand came up, covering Jaina’s mouth and silencing her protests. “Never. Again.” The sudden seriousness in Sylvanas’ red eyes washed away any doubts Jaina’s mind had been plagued by since waking up. Sylvanas lay back down, reversing the positions they’d woken up in. Jaina curled her arms around the elf’s waist, pulling her as close as possible while burying her face into the crook of Sylvanas’ neck.

Sylvanas passed her fingers through Jaina’s hair over and over, staring up at the ceiling. What had she gotten herself into? She wanted this, more than anything. That much she hadn’t lied to Jaina about. But never losing her? Even despite the fact that Jaina herself had admitted they were on opposite sides of this war; how could she truly make that promise? They lived in a world constantly on the brink of utter chaos. And their positions would see them always dragged in and shoved to the forefront of any conflict. How could she possibly make that promise and actually fully intend to follow through with it?

Whatever might happen, Sylvanas knew one thing. She’d do anything for the woman currently warming her cold skin. The extent of that ‘anything’ would remain to be seen, but she hoped it would never be tested.

Sylvanas pressed a kiss into Jaina’s hair, murmuring the words she’d said countless times before, but not since gaining control back from Arthas, “I love you.”

Jaina smiled into Sylvanas’ neck, pressing a kiss into the hollow of her throat, “I love you too.”

***

Sylvanas watched Jaina open the portal before the mage hesitated, spinning back around to place one final kiss on the elf’s lips. As she pulled away, Jaina winked, before disappearing through the portal. It closed with a snap, sounding the proper finality on their brief reconnection. Sylvanas’ ears drooped slightly once the magic dissipated. She knew their next meeting would not be for a long time. Finding a time where neither of them would be missed from their respective lives was going to be incredibly difficult if at all possible. They could make it work though, right? Sylvanas sincerely hoped so.

The Dark Lady walked beyond the field of defensive wards before unleashing her Banshee form, transforming into a cloud of black smoke and flying back towards the Undercity.

* * *

**Durotar**

Granakk barely got his axe up in time to block the elemental’s strike. The loud scraping of rock on metal pierced his ears, pushing back with all the might his exhausted body could muster. Thrall watched on as the young Orc managed to push the elemental back, before roaring his last-ditch effort and swinging with both huge weapons. The simultaneous blows cleaved straight through the central mass of his enemy, the elemental collapsing into a pile of rocks and earth.

The Mag’har fell to one knee, gasping for breath. Sweat dripped from the end of his nose, his hair matted and thick with it. His arms hung uselessly at his side, both axes resting on the ground as he tried to catch his breath.

Thrall decided to not summon another elemental to torment the young shaman. They'd done enough training for one day. He’d found that Granakk had almost no shamanic training at all, only knowing a few brief abilities he’d managed to teach himself. Unfortunately, he also found it difficult to connect with the elements on Azeroth, explained to Thrall that they just felt different than they had on Draenor. Pushing past this block was the first step in training Granakk to use his shaman powers to their full extent.

This wasn’t exactly how Granakk had expected to be taught. He thought maybe there was some stance or special ritual he was missing, not having to fight elementals for hours on end. To his surprise, it was working. The more he fought these beings, the more he understood them. How they moved, how they fought and finally how they just, were. He could feel their presence, feel their very nature at the most basic level. How they were both tumultuous and in complete harmony at the same time. They fit in with the landscape while still out of place.

Granakk found himself able to command the ones he fought to some extent. Make them pull back on their blows, swing wide when they should have swung true. He swore that he’d managed to save his own life several times that day. He knew that probably wasn’t true, and Thrall would never have put his life in actual mortal danger, but he couldn’t be sure. The older Orc studied his fighting intently, watching as the elementals brought down their fury upon him. How was Granakk to be sure he hadn't summoned them to attempt to kill him?

“I think that’s enough for today.” Thrall’s voice rang out in the red rock canyon, breaking through the sound of Granakk’s heavy breathing. The Mag’har nodded his gratitude, releasing his hold on his weapons and flopping straight down onto his back. Thrall walked over, holding out a hand and lifting Granakk back to his feet. He handed the larger Orc a canteen of water, instantly drained down his throat. “You are learning much faster than I thought you would. Faster than I did, that’s for certain.”

“Thank you, Warchief.” He did feel stronger. More connected to the world around him. The elements were becoming easier to feel. Soon, maybe, he could employ them in true combat, as he’d seen other shaman do.

The sound of light feet on the rocky ground spun Granakk around, raising his fists at the intruder, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. He lowered them slowly, confused as to why this person was there.

The Banshee Queen picked her way carefully towards the two Orcs, Thrall’s face with a slightly quizzical look, but nodded his greetings nonetheless. “Lady Windrunner.”

“Warchief.” The slight echo in her voice still unnerved Granakk slightly, but he supposed it had something to do with being undead. “I wanted to hear how the meeting with Lady Proudmoore went.” Granakk noticed that the trepidation the Dark Lady had shown at the mention of the mage’s name before was completely absent. Curious.

“Did you not receive my message?”

A look of slight surprise flashed across her face, gone as soon as it came, “I did. Though this is rather important. There could be a new enemy of the horizon if this one is truly from the future. Messages can be intercepted and altered.” Granakk knew she wasn’t telling the whole truth. There was definitely another reason why the undead elf had suddenly appeared. He looked across at the Warchief. From what the Mag’har could tell, Thrall knew it too.

Thrall understood her suspicion. They both had been through too much to dismiss the very possibility this was a ploy from an as of yet unseen enemy. “Unfortunately, you were right. Granakk was deliberately sent to here and now instead of wherever the rest of his people ended up.”

Sylvanas nodded, shifting her attention to the larger of the two Orcs, “And what do you think, Granakk?” Her stare was penetrating, seeming as though she could read his very thoughts, “Why were you sent here?” It was almost accusatory.

“I don’t know.” He couldn’t break eye contact with the elf. Both because he didn’t want to appear weak in front of the Warchief, but also because he didn’t think he was actually able to. Her eyes held power, even if there was no indication of that fact. The glow drew his attention to them no matter what he did. “I plan to find out if I can though.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Sylvanas started stretching her arms, much to both Orc’s confusion, “Then you’d better be ready when you do.” She walked a few paces away, drawing the dual swords from her waist and falling into a battle stance. “Let’s test how you do against a smaller opponent. Those elementals hardly had any speed to them.”

Thrall was at first hesitant to allow this to happen, but quickly saw the benefit to it. He nodded, moving off a slight distance and sitting back down next to the wolves he and Granakk had rode to the canyon.

Granakk picked up his axes, trying to ready himself for this battle. He was fairly certain he was physically stronger than the elf, but judging from how she held herself, she had far more experience. And he was exhausted from the day’s training, even if he’d managed to catch his breath.

“Don’t hold anything back.” Sylvanas’ eyes glowed slightly more than they normally did at the taunt, setting her expression in a hard stare.

Granakk didn’t hold back. The Orc beared down on the elf, swinging straight down with both weapons. Sylvanas simply raised one sword, blocking both strikes at once with almost no effort. Granakk’s eyes widened in surprise, quickly caught off guard with a heavy blow of a pommel to the stomach. He staggered backwards, shaking off the slight stupor the blow had caused, moving straight back in with rapid strikes despite the size of his weapons.

Sylvanas slowly backtracked, turning every blow aside and not even attempting a strike of her own. She studied how the Orc fought. Every blow was calculated, but predictable. He'd been taught honourable combat, unfortunately. It would work against most opponents, his physical strength would outclass all but the strongest of combatants, but he would likely not be fighting ‘normal’ adversaries in the future.

Sylvanas’ greatly enhanced undead strength and speed allowed her to fight on entirely even terms with the Orc even without using any of the magic her nature as a Banshee allowed for. She’d need to push him if she wanted to see what he was truly capable of. With sudden speed, Sylvanas leapt backwards before pushing off and charging back in with a swing to his side. Granakk barely got an axe to defend, the force of the blow sending him staggering a step. His eyes flicked down to his weapon, a deep gouge in the metal of the blade where her blow had connected.

The Mag’har fought with renewed vigour, determined to beat this enemy. Sylvanas watched with satisfaction as the terrain started to react with him, small bits of earth flying towards her with each swing of his axe. She caught both axes in a parry, locking the weapons from being able to move. She brought her arms apart with violent force, the axes flying off to the sides. Slipping closer to her enemy, Sylvanas managed to get into the air beyond the Orc’s guard, planting both feet into the centre of his chest and sending the much larger combatant rolling across the ground. He kept hold of his weapons, much to Sylvanas’ approval.

Granakk got back to his feet, furious with himself for allowing his guard to be so easily broken. He looked over at the elf, her expression still set in grim concentration. Small sparks of lightning travelled down his arms, even visible in the irises of his eyes. He felt a sudden pull from his surroundings, reacting on pure instinct and raising his arms up. Two elementals sprang into being, both more than double the size of Granakk himself, one made of a swirling tornado of rock, the other a whirling cyclone of lightning. Both new allies charged Sylvanas, doing their best to protect their master.

Sylvanas allowed the slightest hint of a grin to pass her lips before unleashing her own power. The blades left her hands, replaced by her bow and two arrows. Both shafts glowed with purple necromantic magic before being released towards their targets. Neither elemental got within a few metres of the Dark Lady before exploding in a shower of rock and energy. Their master watched on in awe at the Banshee Queen’s power, amazed his allies had been destroyed so quickly.

Granakk prepared to charge again, but found almost all of his stamina was gone. He felt a cold sweat spring up all over his body. His limbs betrayed him as he stumbled forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

“I think that’s enough.” Thrall’s voice ended the battle, Sylvanas nodding before shouldering her bow. He marched quickly over to Granakk handing him a second canteen of water, gone just as quickly as the first. The Warchief’s black and yellow plate shook as he chuckled, “I think you might have overdone it a bit.”

Granakk could only nod his agreement, words escaping him. He felt drained, unable to feel the connection to the elements he’d felt in the heat of battle. In fact, he couldn’t feel that connection at all.

Thrall knew exactly what the other shaman was thinking. He remembered the elements seemingly disappearing any time he was exhausted. They’d return to him. They always did.

“Thank you, Lady Windrunner, for-” Thrall turned, prepared to thank Sylvanas for her help. He hadn’t been able to push past this particular stage of Granakk’s training for a few days, and he hadn’t thought of just attacking till it forced the Orc to react. But the Dark Lady was gone, no trace she’d even been there. The Warchief frowned, wondering what the most enigmatic leader of the Horde’s forces plan actually was. Why had she really come here? He’d likely never find out, so Thrall pushed it to the back of his mind. “Best get back to Orgrimmar then.”

Granakk accepted the hand up, just barely able to lift his weapons onto his back and mount the riding wolf. He nearly fell out of the saddle three times on the way back to the city. The second he fell into the small cot of the barracks, the Mag’har fell into a deep sleep, prepared to do it all again tomorrow.


	4. The Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Period: Fall of the Lich King

**Icecrown Citadel**

The huge battering ram slammed once more into the front of gates of the Lich King’s fortress. Granakk watched from nearby as the metal finally showed signs of buckling under the assault. It had been a hard slog of combat the last several months to get here. Whittling away at their enemy’s forces all over Northrend had cost both the Horde and the Alliance dearly, but it was all about to be worth it.

The Mag’har recalled storming through the portal into Naxxramas, fronting unspeakable horrors within the depths of the huge floating citadel. Finally destroying Kel’thuzad’s phylactery had taken a lot out of the combined Alliance and Horde heroes, but they’d finally done it. Spending the better part of an entire day fighting had taxed all of their strengths, Granakk the only one to walk out unscathed.

Ulduar had been a true challenge, facing off against an Old God in the bowels of the Titan facility had been one of the more terrifying experiences of Granakk’s life. Having his mind invaded like that had deeply disturbed the Orc, to the point where he honestly thought he’d gone completely insane. Luckily, they managed to crush Yogg Saron underneath their boots and deal the final blow. Granakk knew he wasn’t dead, but if they’d just managed to at least imprison him once more, that was good enough for the Orc.

And now, here he was, the ultimate goal of the entire Northrend campaign in sight. A few more hits of the ram would finally send the front gate crashing open. Granakk pushed his way to the front of the Argent Crusade’s forces, the far shorter Humans moving out of the way. He drew both giant greatswords from over his back, ready to face whatever lie beyond the imposing entrance.

The swords and armour he wore had been a gift. From the Banshee Queen no less. The blades, even one of them too heavy for the smaller races to lift, specifically designed for Granakk’s enormous strength. The length of them were carved with shamanic runes, allowing the elements to flow more easily through them and give Granakk the ability to channel his abilities far more effectively in combat. While he was a powerful shaman, standing at range like some of the others had never suited him, preferring to be right in with the action. Nothing was more intimidating than seeing an almost eight foot tall Orc charging at you, swords surrounded by lightning and lava. Few others had both the strength and power to match his ability.

His armour, full midnight-black plate. Similar to the swords, the metal was enchanted to better channel his magic, but was also adorned with more traditionally Orcish features, the pauldrons large sweeping spikes, the forearms with large jutting bones. They'd been stained with blood more than once, Granakk used every weapon he had at his disposal, including the armour itself. Sylvanas had also seen fit to add some Forsaken elements to the armour. A large skull adorned his belt, eyes glowing out with an otherworldly combination of shamanic and necromantic magic. His knee guards were similar, though smaller so as not to limit his movement.

There had been a helmet as well, hammered and moulded into a perfect representation of a wolf's head. He'd worn it very briefly at the start of their Northrend campaign, but soon returned it to the Dark Lady herself. While the rest of the armour was incredibly light for the protection it offered, the helmet had felt like it weighed a ton and suffocated his fighting style. Being unable to see his surroundings perfectly had almost led to him not seeing a Vrykul champion of the Lich King swinging an axe straight at his side. Barely getting up his own weapon in response, he'd pushed the undead monster back before tearing the helmet off and throwing it with all his might at the enemy. Distracted by the sudden attack, Granakk had severed one leg from its body before bringing the other sword straight down and burying it in the thing’s skull. From then on, his head went unprotected. Several close calls had not swayed Granakk into wearing it, even an arrow making a nice long scar across his cheek had not persuaded him. Sylvanas knew there was no arguing with the Horde champion and had let it slide. Granakk’s long hair was almost permanently tied back behind his head, small charms of bone weaved through it. His beard was similarly tied up, small shaman-blessed runes in its length.

Sylvanas stood off to the side of the main bulk of the forces assaulting Icecrown Citadel, surrounded by some of the Horde's leaders, but also separated from them. Garrosh was making some wild proclamation about how he was going to personally kill the Lich King. The fool had no idea what they were up against. Even a small display of Arthas’ power at the Wrathgate had done nothing to sway the young Orc. The far older Orc standing next to him was a whole other story. Varok Saurfang. Sylvanas could tell by the look on his face that he knew what they were getting themselves into. He had the eyes of a tired warrior, fighting because the fight needed to be fought. There were few among the Horde's ranks outside of the Forsaken that the Dark Lady truly respected. Saurfang was one of these few, Granakk another. On the other hand, Garrosh was a petulant child if she'd ever seen one, not a strategic bone in his body. What Thrall saw in him she'd never know. Being someone’s son did not automatically make them worthy.

The Banshee Queen glanced over the Argent Crusade’s forces, all the way to the other side. She just so happened to lock her gaze with an icy-blue eyed mage. She could see the fear in Jaina's eye lessen ever so slightly, a grim smile crossing her pale features. The elf only nodded in response, afraid that any more reaction would be seen as suspicious by her allies. Garrosh seemed to hold a particularly strong hatred for the Alliance, even going as far to suggest they get rid of their forces entirely from this attack. It had taken a lot of persuasion on Saurfang’s part to prevent the young Orc’s plan from happening, but he’d eventually succeeded, Garrosh relenting and grumbling his distaste for the plan.

The two women had seen very little of each other in the past several months. Fleeting glances across the room when the Alliance and Horde leaders were forced to meet. Even in the relative calm of Dalaran and with Jaina a very high-ranking member of the Kirin Tor, it had been almost impossible to secure a moment alone together. There had been a single proper reunion about two months previous to their invasion of Icecrown. Jaina had ensured no one would disturb them within her private rooms in the Violet Citadel. Sylvanas knew no one would question why she was entering the Violet Citadel. If anyone dared, they would’ve met the sharp point of one of the Dark Lady’s arrows.

Their reunion had been mostly physical. Being apart from one another for so long usually ensured whenever they met up in person was like an explosion, pent up desire usually winning out in the end. They still talked about several things, but there wasn’t much to talk about. Jaina had shown Sylvanas how she’d sent the message to her several years before, the one that had rekindled their relationship. Both had ways to get letters and messages to the other undetected, cementing their contact. Sylvanas had even created a way to make her letters decay almost instantly if anyone but Jaina attempted to read them. Jaina had done something similar, hers emitting powerful frost magic before shattering into fragments, impossible to reassemble into the complete message. They’d both had reports of their letters doing exactly that, Sylvanas dealing with her traitors severely, while Jaina had a more measured approach, personally confronting them and ensuring they never did it again.

Both of them looked back towards the gates of the Citadel upon a particularly loud screech from the ram colliding with the door. It truly buckled in this time, freezing cold air, even colder than Icecrown already was, seeping out and covering the army arrayed in front of it. Granakk grunted his impatience at the time it was taking to get through, tempted to try to bring the door down himself with the elements. He stopped himself, saving his energy for what he was sure would be the toughest fight of his life so far. The ram was pulled back one final time, before being released and sending the doors of Icecrown Citadel thundering open.

Granakk let out a battle cry, charging through the open doors. Right behind him, the forces of the Argent Crusade made their own presence known as they followed him in. The Orc was surprised not to be met with a wall of undead troops. Instead, there was only a few scattered through the hall leading up to an open area. The lack of enemies didn’t slow Granakk down one bit, his eyes locking onto the closest one and brought his fury down upon it.

Lightning streamed down both blades as he brought them swinging around in a wide arc, cleaving through the opponent’s chest and sending bones skittering onto the ground. He reacted quickly, wrenching one greatsword out just as an arrow flew towards him, deflecting the projectile and giving Granakk his next target. He slammed his foot down, sending a ripple through the earth just beneath the unholy floor of the fortress. A huge earth spike erupted from the ground, impaling the undead archer and allowing Granakk to cover the distance between them without being attacked again. His weapon came down, shattering the spike as well as turning the enemy into two separate parts.

Soon, the combined army of the Argent Crusade, Alliance and Horde had claimed a staging area within the entrance of the citadel itself. They set up barricades rapidly, holding back a steady but slow number of the Lich King’s forces, while they prepared for the fight ahead.

Horde and Alliance stared at each other uneasily across the room, most of their respective champions keeping as far from one another as possible. Granakk had no such problems, marching straight over to where the leaders were discussing the plan, stopping when he stood next to Sylvanas. “My lady.”

“Granakk.” Sylvanas looked up at the huge Orc, a slight smile curling the edges of her lips before being banished, back to her usual look of neutrality and slight hostility. Granakk was loyal to the Horde, almost to a fault. More specifically loyal to two individuals, the Warchief and Sylvanas. But he was smart enough to see through all of the propaganda that blinded his fellow soldiers and get right to the heart of any conflict. He didn’t hate the Alliance. He would fight them at any cost if the situation called for it, but not simply because they were there. He was very much unlike the only other brown-skinned Orc in the room in that regard.

Granakk’s gaze fell on Lady Proudmoore from across the small ring they’d formed to discuss their plan. Their eyes met, the Orc giving a respectful nod to the Kirin Tor mage. Jaina smiled slightly back, returning the greeting. Over the years since their first meeting, Granakk had encountered Jaina several times and had formed a lasting friendship. While he was well aware that the mage was part of the Alliance, he saw her as worthy of respect and would be a great ally if he should ever need it.

Garrosh seemed to notice Granakk’s greeting of the Human, giving the Orc a hard glare. Granakk glared right back, daring Garrosh to do something about it. Garrosh was large for an Orc, but Granakk still had almost half a foot of height on him and significant shamanic power, whereas Garrosh didn’t even have a hint of magical ability. Granakk followed his orders, mostly, but only because Thrall had put the other Orc in that position. Granakk trusted the Warchief’s judgment, but still thought Garrosh was far too hot headed for the role.

“The Horde and Alliance champions will carve a path through the citadel, taking down any defences they might encounter. The Argent Crusade will follow behind, securing each passage as they go. When we find a path to Arthas himself, I will lead the fight against him.” Highlord Tirion Fordring stood at the head of the small group, outlining the plan to them all. A simple, yet sound course of action. Granakk did not envy the Human his position. Bringing together the Horde and Alliance to do anything as allies was a feat in and of itself, but on this scale was downright impressive.

“HA!” Garrosh’s short bark of laughter caught everyone’s attention. “The Horde does not need to hold the pathetic Alliance’s hand in here. We will take out the Lich King ourselves.” He stared across the way at King Varian Wrynn, the Human leader’s face contorting with rage, “The Alliance has no place against a true enemy.”

“And the Horde does? I seem to recall it was a Horde leader who foolishly charged Arthas alone at the Wrathgate, not a member of the Alliance.” Varian’s taunt was met with a growl from Garrosh, the Orc’s hands falling to the hilts of the axes at his side.

“ENOUGH!” Tirion slammed the point of Ashbringer into the ground, a small wave of pure light flashing out from the point of impact. “While we are here, we are all allies, whether you like it or not. I will not tolerate any infighting. Only by working together will we succeed. We will take our final stand in these hallowed halls and take down the Lich King, whatever it takes.” Garrosh seemed to rethink his actions, crossing his arms, but still staring daggers at Varian. Varian stared right back, he too staying quiet.

The crowd dispersed soon after, but not before the Lich King’s voice bellowed from somewhere above them. A short conversation revealed that the leader of the Alliance forces at the Wrathgate was still alive, all the more reason to push forward as soon as possible. Granakk walked over to a whetstone that had been set up while the leaders talked, pulling his weapons out and carefully sharpening the edge.

***

The frozen air of Icecrown cooled the sweat on Granakk’s brow the moment it appeared. They’d reached the battlements outside the citadel, fighting through a throng of undead towards the docked Horde airship. When the Horde and Alliance champions had reached the exterior of the fortress, both of their airships had docked, at opposite ends of the ramparts. They’d split up, going their separate ways, neither side entirely trusting the other enough to get on board their ship.

Granakk cleaved one last abomination through, releasing the foul stench of its innards into the air. He’d long since gotten used to the smell, marching straight past and towards the Horde’s ship. The other champions followed, including a certain Blood Elf mage. When the Horde had made their alliance with the Blood Elves, Granakk had made it his mission to find the one who would at some point send him to the wrong point in history. It hadn’t taken long. One of the first few hundred of them to arrive in Orgrimmar was the one. That blond air and those green glowing eyes, he’d know them anywhere, burned into his memory as they were. He’d been tempted to just confront her, get it out of the way. But before doing that, he’d sought advice and council from two of the only people who were aware of how he truly came to be here. Sylvanas and Thrall.

Both the Warchief and the Dark Lady had made him swear he would not confront her. Not tell her a single detail of the part she was yet to play. They had been surprised that she would crop up so soon, but knew that it could only cause problems with their new allies if Granakk immediately accused one of them of a crime she had not yet committed.

Granakk did not confront her. Instead, he’d befriended her. He’d learned her name was Jastana, very young for an Elf, despite being nearly a decade older than Granakk himself. She’d very rarely left Silvermoon before her people had allied themselves with the Horde, choosing to leave and make a name for herself almost the day they had. Granakk had acted as a sort of guide and then companion, adventuring together through the wastes of Outland and then through the frozen tundra that was Northrend. He could not have asked for a better ally if he was honest. Powerful mage that she was, Jastana was also remarkably kind. Slow to anger, yet do so at your own peril. Granakk had witnessed her truly angry and it had been a haunting experience.

And now, here they were, firm friends and assaulting one of the worst enemies to life on the face of Azeroth. Granakk had not given her even a clue of what was to come, the part she was to play. Perhaps he would figure out eventually why she would betray him, but for now, he was content to be friends.

The airship took off the second they were all aboard, High Overlord Saurfang already onboard.

Jastana leant forward on her staff, breathing hard from the exertion of casting magic nearly constantly since the assault on the citadel had begun. “Think we can ask Arthas to give us a breather?”

Granakk laughed heartily, “Maybe if you ask him real nicely, he’ll do it. And a nice cold ale while you’re at it?”

The Elf laughed right back, conjuring water out of thin air, “I think you can ask that. I’ll just ask him to put down Frostmourne real gently. I’m sure it’ll work.” She handed a new flask of water to Granakk, far larger than the one she’d created for herself. He gratefully accepted it, guzzling the refreshing drink.

“Definitely and-”

“ALLIANCE GUNSHIP! ALL HANDS ON DECK!” Saurfang’s voice rang clear over the wind that constantly blew through Icecrown. The two champions’ heads whipped up, the Alliance ship coming into view fast. They both quickly readied weapons.

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Granakk was pissed. Couldn’t they just have a few days without fighting each other? It was apparently too much to ask. He could see from even this far the look on the Alliance champions’ faces. They were uncertain of this course of action. They didn’t want to do this. They wanted to do what they came here to do and defeat the Lich King. Apparently, whoever was leading them had other plans. Granakk spun on his heel to face Jastana, “I have a plan.”

She cocked a long eyebrow, but listened anyhow. She nodded, eyeing the Orc, “You’re insane, you know that, right?”

He gave only a grin, “Only way to live.” And with that, he was off, hands filled with his greatswords, sprinting straight past all the other members of the Horde, straight for the edge of the ship. With his allies yelling after him, he jumped into the air. Hundreds of metres above the ground, he was suspended for but a moment.

The portal opened beneath him, his body disappearing from between the two airships. A second portal opened above the deck of the Alliance gunship, Granakk rolling over the timber as he sprang back to his feet. The flat of one blade flashed out, slamming into the nearest Alliance soldier and sending him flying. The Orc would do his best to not kill anyone on this ship. He knew he could not avoid injuring the rank and file soldiers surrounding him, not used to his titanic strength. But he hoped the Alliance champions would either fare better, or not face him at all. He was fairly confident he could take any single one of them in combat, maybe even two, but if they all saw fit to attack, he would have no choice but to fight to kill.

Granakk quickly scanned the ship, eyeing the leader of the Alliance forces. Muradin Bronzebeard. He thought the Dwarf would have more sense than to attack the Horde’s ship, considering his own history with Arthas. But perhaps the opportunity was too much for him to pass up. Granakk immediately started towards him, spinning and blocking every blow that came his way.

A sword came at his side, quickly slapped aside and the arm that had swung it broken, before a kick to the chest sent the soldier flying away. Granakk’s blades worked overtime to parry, careful to hold back just enough so as not to kill any of them outright. An arrow suddenly sprouted from his back, sneaking in between the gap of his breastplate and pauldron. He slammed a pommel of one sword down to the ground, a wave of lightning erupting in every direction, driving his opponents back. He whirled on the archer, firing another arrow straight at him. Granakk produced a shield of pure electricity, the projectile turned aside by the barrier. He charged at his attacker, removing the bow from their hands and crushing it beneath his boot. The archer backed away with his hands up, surrendering to the Orc.

Granakk had predicted correctly. The Alliance champions did nothing to stop him, despite Muradin yelling at them to attack. He made his way over to the Dwarf, incapacitating several more soldiers on the way. Muradin attempted to attack, only for Granakk to simply drop his greatswords and catch the two maces the Dwarf wielded.

The small hammers skidded across the deck as Granakk tossed them away, gripping Muradin by the front of his breastplate and lifting him into the air with a single hand. The Orc’s blue eyes stared dangerously through the front of Muradin’s helmet, “What, exactly, were you trying to achieve with this attack, Muradin?”

The Dwarf stared back, giving an answer Granakk was not expecting, “I need to be the one to take Arthas down.” He was placed back on the ground, Granakk waiting for him to elaborate. “I was the one to lead him to that cursed blade. I’m responsible for all he’s done. I can’t let anyone else take this burden.”

Granakk shook his head, amazed at the Dwarf’s words, “You cannot hope to defeat him. None of us can. We have to work together, not attack each other the moment our backs are turned.” Granakk nodded at Jastana across the space between the ships, a portal opening behind him. “If you can’t do that, I’d suggest you go back to the entrance and wait for it to be over.” He turned and made his way back through the portal and onto the ship. Muradin was left completely still from his words.

The Alliance champions looked between each other before following Granakk through the portal. Once they were all aboard the Horde airship, the portal snapped shut, leaving Muradin alone with a few men. “Take us back down.”

Granakk watched the Alliance ship peel away, glad that he could end a potential conflict relatively peacefully. He was not happy that he’d had to injure several soldiers just following orders from their commander, but it was better than having killed them. He looked up, eyeing the ramparts they would be stopping at. He was almost tempted to ask if they could go all the way to the top, but Arthas would likely blast them out of the sky with something if they attempted it. Making their way through the citadel would have to do.

***

They were down to two. Only Granakk and Jastana remained of the champions that had come to face the Lich King. He’d murdered all of them, seemingly not even putting a single bit of effort into his brutal attacks. Four had died in the first minute of their battle. Another nine in the ten minutes after. They kept falling to the swings of Frostmourne or the undead monstrosities Arthas seemed to have no end of. It appeared the Lich King’s power was limitless. They’d lost their last ally more than twenty minutes ago.

Granakk was locked into combat with the monster, swords swinging, desperately trying to find a gap in his defences. Frostmourne seemed to be everywhere at once, blocking every strike that came its way. The elements had come to his aid, but even they gave no advantage. Lightning was turned aside by Frostmourne or completely absorbed by whatever unholy shield Arthas was able to manifest. The earth was too far away to be used, lessening Granakk’s arsenal significantly. The fury of the wind was the only thing that seemed to help, speeding up his attacks till they were a blur even to Granakk. He’d managed to push Arthas back several steps, but even this was soon accommodated for, Frostmourne returning to the invincible defence it was.

Jastana made use of nearly every offensive spell she knew. She’d thrown huge lances of ice, streams of fire, used explosions of arcane energy. Nothing she did caused any damage whatsoever. Her exhaustion had begun to make itself known. Her spells were weaker, not even having the little impact they’d had before on the Lich King. She knew at this point she was essentially just getting in Granakk’s way, the Orc having to watch for her spells being cast and making sure he didn’t get caught up in them. Granakk knew she’d never hit him with a spell deliberately, but he’d also never seen her this exhausted before. Jastana had resigned herself to dealing with whatever ghouls the Lich King summoned into being, trying to be as useful as her nearly completely depleted body would allow.

Turning aside yet another of Granakk’s strikes, the Lich King pushed Granakk back, sending him stumbling a step. The momentary lost of balance was quickly capitalised on, a plated boot slamming into the centre of the Orc’s chest and sending him flipping through the air. All the air in his lungs rushed out from the strike, only to be gone again when he hit the icy ground, rolling across the platform and barely managing to keep a hold on his weapons. He slid nearly to the edge of the platform, one leg even dangling off the side. He quickly pulled it back on, struggling to get back to his feet. Arthas’ blow had left a dent in his plate amour. This armour had taken blows from Vrykul without damage, and yet the Lich King’s unholy strength had allowed him to damage it with a single attack.

Granakk’s vision finally cleared, lifting his head to get back into the fight. His blood ran cold. Colder than it had been since entering Icecrown Citadel. Colder than the start of the fight with Arthas. Colder than it had been watching all of the mightiest champions Azeroth had to offer be slaughtered by a monster.

Arthas’ gauntlet was wrapped around Jastana’s throat, her eyes completely consumed by fear as she looked upon her impending death. Her staff lay on the ground, shattered into pieces from when Frostmourne had struck it. Blood soaked into the robes at her side from where the runeblade had sliced into her flesh. She’d lost, there was nothing she could do to stop her death now. Nothing anyone could do.

Arthas turned his head, locking eyes with Granakk. The Orc swore he could see a twisted smile cross the sick bastard’s face as he raised Frostmourne up. “NOOOOOOO!!” His yell came too late. Frostmourne plunged into Jastana’s chest, erupting from her back with a spray of blood. The blade was covered in it, dripping to form a pool beneath her. Granakk could only watch on in horror as the life drained from his best friend’s eyes, as the green glow faded, her eyes going grey and dull. Her limbs falling limp at her sides. A gurgling gasp of air leaving her, blood staining her lips. He could only watch as her soul visibly escaped its cage, only to be pulled back in and disappear into Frostmourne’s surface.

Jastana’s body was tossed aside with little care, rolling to a stop, leaving a long path slick with her blood. Granakk stared at her corpse for a few seconds, disbelief at what had just happened. He’d failed her. Failed a woman he knew would one day betray him. Failed one of the few people he could call friend. He didn’t consider the consequences of what had just happened or his next actions.

All he could feel was rage. Rage like he’d never felt before. He’d heard stories of the blood rage some Orcs could whip themselves into, but he’d never experienced it before this moment. The anger was all consuming, spreading to every fibre of his being. He felt power boiling in his veins, threatening to burst forth at any moment. Lightning began to arc all over his armour. Wind whipped around him until he was surrounded by almost gale force winds. His eyes glowed with barely restrained power, staring at his enemy. Every rune carved into his greatswords and armour glowed the same.

A roar exploded from Granakk, so loud that he would not have been surprised if the entirety of Icecrown could hear it. He felt like he’d barely taken a step before he was upon his enemy, his movement so fast in his unrelenting wrath. Both huge swords swung down, clashing with Frostmourne, the metal scraping together producing sparks. Arthas held back the blow with his own might, staring up at the Mag’har. Arthas was fairly tall for a Human, but he was no Orc. Granakk stood nearly two feet taller and far physically larger.

The shaman pushed down on his enemy, bellowing his battle cry into the air. Much to Arthas’ surprise, he actually felt pressured from this enemy. Granakk managed to force the Lich King down onto one knee, not even stopping his attack for a single instant. The lightning covering his armour and weapons travelled along Frostmourne’s length, channelling through the metal of Arthas’ armour. The Commander of the Scourge felt the power that had been built up against him and smiled. This was what he’d been looking for.

With a surge of strength, the Lich King pushed back, rising from the ground and putting Granakk on the back foot. The Orc responded quickly, using his new position to leap away from his enemy, just as Frostmourne came swinging through where he had been. A bolt of lightning shot from the end of a sword, reflected off of Frostmourne and putting a deep crack into the ice beneath their feet from where it landed. Not giving him a chance to recover, Granakk moved straight back in, assaulting Arthas with a whirlwind of blows.

Wind raged around them, attempting to slice at the Lich King’s armour. The damned plate shrugged aside the attacks, protecting their wearer completely. Granakk didn’t actually intend this to damage him, more make Arthas have to concentrate on something other than his blades. He continued to batter at Arthas’ defences, not giving him a chance to counterattack. Granakk knew that if he slipped up for even a second, it would spell his demise.

Abruptly, Arthas’ attacks sped up, a plated fist coming through and colliding in the exact same spot his foot had done before. It took Granakk off his feet, sending him tumbling through the air, managing to land on his feet and right himself. The Lich King transferred Frostmourne to a single hand, his other one radiating necromantic power. It shot forward, firing a beam of energy straight at the Orc.

Granakk reacted without thinking. He’d landed next to the body of a Tauren warrior, one whose defences he’d never seen broken before this day. The greatsword in his left hand dropped to the ground, his left foot slamming down onto the huge tower shield at his feet. The Orc’s free arm rocketed forward, slipping perfectly through the straps on the back of it and bringing it round to defend himself.

The Mag’har slid back several metres as the Lich King’s attack collided with his new protection. To his satisfaction, it held back the immensely powerful energy that was currently assaulting it, showing no signs of allowing it through. Granakk gritted his teeth, starting to march forward. Every step was harder than the previous, getting closer to the source of the power. He reinforced the shield as best he could, wreathing its surface with lightning, wind and fire. He could feel his muscles burn with exertion, even more than they already were.

Arthas’ eyes narrowed at the Orc’s strategy. It was impressive, but he would not be beat. He poured even more of his power through his hand, the unstable purple energy nearly doubling in intensity. Granakk slid back only a single step before righting himself, doing the same as his enemy and pushing more of his power through the shield.

Much to the Lich King’s frustration, he could not seem to slow the Mag’har’s progress. Granakk was now within a few steps of his target, almost within striking distance. With one last surge of strength, he shot himself forward, bringing the shield round and slamming it into Arthas’ side. The attack stopped, staggering the Lich King back a step. Granakk used the momentary lapse to his advantage, assaulting the Human for all he was worth. The shield collided with Arthas time and time again, preventing him from using Frostmourne properly. The greatsword was barely defended against, even managing to slice a thin wound at the crux of his elbow.

Arthas bellowed his frustration at actually being injured. He caught the greatsword on the next swing, locking it with Frostmourne’s cross guard. His other hand rushed forward, punching the shield with all his might and putting a huge dent in its centre. With a masterful display of swordsmanship, Granakk’s greatsword flew off behind him, leaving him with only the shield. Frostmourne descended again and again onto it, splintering the metal and sending shards of it flying everywhere. Granakk could do nothing but attempt to hold back the barrage of blows. He’d made Arthas angry. That was not a good sign.

The shield was soon half gone, barely hanging onto the Orc’s arm. Instead of swinging down and possibly ending the fight right then, Arthas swung up, throwing Granakk into the air once more. He landed with a deafening crash, barely able to get back to his hands and knees. The shaman let go of the shield, its remains clattering to the floor. He’d landed right next to one of his greatswords, gratefully gripping the hilt. He would not get to use it. He looked up to the Lich King, still standing where’d he’d taken the Orc from his feet, hands now both shining with the same purple energy as before. They shot forward, firing the attack at Granakk.

The shaman barely had time to think, only just getting his hands up in time to respond with an attack of his own. Lightning bolted forward from both hands, colliding with the Lich King’s own attack in an explosion that rocked the very ground they stood on.

Granakk could tell he was losing. The centre of the two attacks was slowly edging its way toward him, spelling his impending doom. He saw not way out, no clever attack to beat this enemy. The Lich King was too powerful. While he did all he could to push back against the torrent of power slamming into his own, Arthas began to walk forward, arms outstretched as he closed the distance between them.

Echoing laughter rang out when there were only a few metres left between them, “_You are truly one of Azeroth’s greatest heroes. And now… you will die by my hand._” With an extreme show of power, Arthas pushed through Granakk’s attack, one hand reaching forward and wrapping around his throat. The lightning ceased its onslaught, the air around them going quiet as the grip tightened. The Lich King lifted the Orc, not entirely tall enough to get him off the ground, but his toes just barely scraped the ice. Granakk’s hand pushed at the Helm of Domination, trying to get him to stop. His other tried to crush Arthas’ wrist, the plate not even showing a single sign of buckling.

Arthas laughed at his attempts. Menacing laughter that brought a chill to Granakk’s very soul. Granakk was lifted a few more inches from the ground, before being smashed into it with such force that he felt several of his ribs break simply from the impact. The Orc coughed, spattering the top of his breastplate with blood. Before he realised what was happening, Frostmourne was hovering over his chest, exactly where his heart was.

The blade was more painful than anything he’d ever felt. The metal was so freezing cold that he could feel his blood turn solid even as it pierced all the way through his heart and out his back, cracking into the ice beneath him. Somehow, he was still alive, still able to see the blade impaling him to the ground.

Arthas knelt down next to him, grinning beneath the helmet he almost permanently wore now. He looked back at the frozen block of ice containing one of the most powerful paladins on Azeroth, unable to do anything to protect the last champion who had fought their greatest enemy.

“_No questions remain unanswered. No doubts linger. You ARE Azeroth’s greatest champions. You all overcame every challenge I laid before you. My mightiest servants have fallen before your relentless onslaught… your unbridled fury… You have delivered the greatest fighting force this world has ever known, right into my hands…_” He chuckled, one of the most unholy sounds Granakk had ever heard, _“Just as I intended._” Arthas looked down at the Orc dying on the ground. “_Watch now Fordring, as I raise them as true masters of the Scourge. They will be the vanguards of a wave of darkness, one that will wash over this world and usher it into a new age of strife. And you, Granakk, champion of the Horde, greatest warrior among them all, will lead them to victory for me. You will be my mightiest champion, the ultimate symbol of my will._”

With the last vestige of his fleeting strength, Granakk did simultaneously the most courageous and stupidest thing he had ever done, “Fuck you.” The blood in his mouth came to the forefront, spitting it as hard as he could straight into Arthas’ face. To his immense satisfaction, it landed right in the Lich King’s eye, going straight through the gap in the metal.

Arthas gave a growl of anger, gripping Frostmourne’s hilt and twisting the blade. The movement destroyed whatever last bit of Granakk’s heart that was keeping him alive. His vision darkened slowly, every sense dulling until… nothing. Granakk died in a pool of his own frozen blood, failing to defeat the enemy he’d set out to.

Frostmourne was wrenched free of the Orc’s corpse as Arthas tried to wipe the blood from beneath his helmet. He looked down at the body, waiting for the soul of this last enemy to flee into Frostmourne’s surface. But nothing happened. No soul came out, no wisp of energy. It took a few moments for Arthas to ponder the implications of this, but in the end, he paid it no attention, instead raising Frostmourne up, and beginning the process of resurrecting his new army.

***

Jastana drew a deep breath into her body, her eyes snapping open as the cold air burned all the way down. She coughed rolling onto her hands and knees and gasping for breath. Small drops of blood stained the ice beneath her, but far less than there should have been. She frantically pressed her hands to her chest, expecting to find a huge wound straight through the middle. Instead, nothing. Not even a sign of the attack that had killed her. Her robes sill had the hole, so she hadn’t dreamt being murdered. They were still soaked with her blood, so her injuries were not a figment of her imagination. She finally glanced up, amazed and terrified by the sight she saw.

Arthas was suspended in the air, surrounded and assaulted by thousands of souls. Frostmourne lay shattered at his feet, souls of the long departed still fleeing from the cursed blade. She looked around, champions all around her picking themselves up and retrieving their weapons. Some did the same as Jastana, simply staring. Others prepared to strike the final blow. As they marched forward, Highlord Fordring’s voice rang out, “No. I will end him.” Jastana realised then what had happened. Somehow, the paladin had managed to break free of his bonds and shattered Frostmourne to the pieces she now saw. Arthas was powerful, but it seemed not powerful enough to stop the thousands now assaulting him.

Jastana staggered back to her feet, looking down at the remains of her staff. She wouldn’t be much use now anyway if she did decide to attack. Her exhaustion was still there, barely able to feel her magic let alone use it. Every champion was now back on their feet, watching their enemy slowly die from the onslaught. Jastana looked around, searching for the one face she hoped to see. She did not find it. Instead, the still, deceased body of her best friend.

“Granakk?” Her voice came as a whisper, not believing what she was seeing. She slowly approached the Orc, kneeling down next to his head. Tears pricked at her eyes as she laid a hand over the hole in his chest, another on his cheek. “Please get up.” The dam broke, the tears flowing down her cheeks as she leaned forward, painful sobs wracking her body as her forehead rested on his breastplate. “Please.”

She stayed that way, not moving even as the scene changed around her. Arthas was dead on the ground, a new Lich King was crowned in the form of Bolvar Fordragon and even when the leaders of the Horde and Alliance came through the portal, she did not move.

***

Sylvanas stepped through the portal, emerging at the top of Icecrown Citadel. She drew an involuntary breath in as her eyes fell on the corpse of her murderer. Arthas’ body was still, the unholy blue glow gone from his eyes. Her eyes scanned up, seeing a block of ice atop the Frozen Throne, and within it, a new Lich King.

It was finally over. Sylvanas felt a weight lifted off her chest as it dawned on her. She was free. Truly free. For the first time in years. No more of the whispers in her mind trying to convince her to come back and serve the Scourge once more. No more fear that one day she’d be dominated again and be forced to slaughter the people she swore to protect.

Most of the champions who’d fought here had left, gone back to the entrance of the Citadel for a well-deserved rest. Sylvanas had heard what happened. They’d all lost. They had been butchered by Arthas’ power and only saved when Tirion had broken free of his bonds and shattered Frostmourne. She looked with disgust at the broken weapon, still recalling to this day what it felt like to have it literally pierce through her heart.

Her eyes fell on the scene she’d come to see. The broken body of her champion and the Blood Elf refusing to leave him. The Dark Lady approached silently, crouching down next to Jastana and laying a gentle hand on her back. The Blood Elf jerked up in surprise, recognising who it was only after several seconds.

She stammered out, “My lady. I’m sorry… I didn’t hear you approach.” She began to stand to give the proper greeting, but stopped at a wave of the Dark Lady’s hand.

Sylvanas could see the tears that had tracked down the young woman’s cheeks, carving paths through the build up of grime that happened in battle. She also noted that the tips of her ears looked slightly blue, likely close to being damaged from the extreme cold. Her echoing undead voice came through quietly, “You should go back down. Get some rest. There’s nothing that can be done for him now.”

Jastana knew the Banshee Queen was right. “He fought to the end, even when it was just him and I left. Arthas killed us all. He killed me. I couldn’t save him.” She turned back to look at Sylvanas, fresh tears in her eyes, “Why didn’t he come back like the rest of us?”

“I don’t know.” It was an honest answer. She did not know. Was this truly the purpose Granakk had been brought backwards in time for? To die at the feet of a monster? To sacrifice himself in a vain effort to defeat an enemy so overwhelmingly powerful that he’d faced so many of Azeroth’s strongest individuals all at once and triumphed? “But I will find out.”

Jastana was led away by another Blood Elf, disappearing through the portal. Sylvanas remained next to Granakk’s body, staring down at him. She could feel she was the only one left at the top of the Citadel, aside from the Lich King. Arthas’ body had been taken away, all the leaders and champions had left. Only her and the body of her champion were left.

Icecrown Citadel had felt wrong from the moment she’d walked through the door hours ago. An unnatural place filled with unspeakable evil. This evil had been the thing to bring her into undeath and had followed her ever since. And now, it was gone. HE was gone. Along with any way Sylvanas knew of to bring someone back from the dead.

The fact the Granakk had not been resurrected like the rest of the heroes of Azeroth was very odd. The fact that he wasn’t technically from Azeroth? Did that sort of magic not work on beings not born here? Or that according to history, he hadn’t even been born yet?

As Sylvanas pondered the answer to these questions, she felt a strange pull on her very essence. She looked down, realising it was coming from the body in front of her. This utterly confused the Elf. Granakk was dead. There was no way this was coming from him. She reached out a tentative hand, laying it over the hole in the chest. Then, it happened.

Energy swirled around them both, Sylvanas’ hand seemingly magnetised to Granakk. She tried to pull away to no avail. She could feel the tug of something on her soul, beseeching her to stop struggling and just let it happen. She did, even pushing down with her hand. The energy stopped rotating around them, instead channelling through her and into the Orc’s dead body. Sylvanas could feel the flesh beneath her hand knitting itself back together. The frozen blood beneath began to melt and retreat back inside.

The instant Sylvanas’ hand was released, Granakk’s body sat up with a sudden motion, nearly knocking the Dark Lady over. Breath clawed its way back into his lungs, frantically trying to bring life back to his limbs. Granakk’s head twisted around searching his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was Frostmourne twisting in his chest. And now, he was alive. He turned, finally finding a familiar face.

Sylvanas’ expression was locked into one of complete shock and surprise. She did not have this power. She had no way to bring back people from the dead. The first thing she noticed was the glow. An ever so slight blue glow clouded over Granakk’s eyes. Had she made him a Death Knight? No, she couldn’t feel the presence of him like she could of the former servants of the Lich King. In fact, Granakk’s presence felt exactly the same. The shamanic power still flowed through his veins, and he was not undead.

“How am I alive?” Granakk’s voice croaked out from his throat. His fingers felt inside the hole in his armour, finding the smooth muscle that would have been there before Frostmourne thrust its way through.

“I…I…I don’t know.” Sylvanas stuttered with even that simple phrase. She soon brought her seriousness back, hiding her shock at how she’d done it, “It doesn’t matter. The fact is, you are. You all are.”

Granakk looked bewildered, “Everyone? Jastana’s alive?”

“She is. They’re all at the entrance.” Granakk began to struggle to his feet, Sylvanas helping him to fully stand up. Once he seemed capable of holding his own weight, the Dark Lady released him to stand in front of him. “However, I need you to not tell anyone how you came back.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t fully understand how I did it, and I don’t need those kinds of questions. Until we figure it out, you will say nothing to anyone, no matter what they ask. Are we clear?”

Granakk could see from her expression that the punishment would be severe for disobeying this order. And he trusted Sylvanas’ judgement, “Of course, my lady.”

“Good.” They left the peak of Icecrown Citadel together, marching through the portal and leaving Bolvar Fordragon alone.

***

Jaina walked slowly through an empty hall of the citadel, following the path towards her goal. All but the lowest reaches where the bulk of the Scourge forces resided had been cleared out of any enemy. With Bolvar now on the throne, any straggler had pulled back, sealing themselves in the very depths of the place.

The mage had been surprised to see Granakk walk back into the entrance hall, no worse for wear as far as she could see. The Blood Elf mage she knew to be his friend had leapt away from the healers who were attending to her and nearly bowled him over with an embrace, an impressive feat considering the size difference between them. That had brought a smile to Jaina’s face.

What she did not see, was her lover. Sylvanas was no where to be found. Jaina had already checked the very top of the citadel, finding nothing but the shards of Frostmourne and the new Lich King. That was when she had sensed her love deep in the citadel, the Elf’s essence unmistakable. And now she walked slowly towards it, ensuring no one was following her and might interrupt them.

As Jaina rounded a corner, she felt her heart leap into her throat. In front of her was an opening to the outside, a small balcony on the side of Icecrown Citadel. It was there she found Sylvanas. Standing atop the small railing, and leaning forward, arms stretched out to her sides. Just as she pitched forward, Jaina reacted.

The mage blinked forwards twice, covering the distance in an instant. She wrapped her arms around the Banshee Queen’s waist and hauled her back over the edge onto solid ground, almost throwing her to the ground and sitting atop her. She pinned Sylvanas’ wrists above her head, preventing the Forsaken leader from moving.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Jaina’s words were almost screamed, tears prickling at the edge of her eyes as she stared down at her love.

Sylvanas avoided her gaze, a mixture of shame and guilt crossing her features. “I…I…”

Jaina’s look softened, releasing her wrists and placing a gentle hand on either side of the Elf’s face, turning it so she would be forced to meet her gaze, “Please, talk to me.” Her words were like a caress, so filled with concern and love.

Sylvanas sat up, Jaina moving off to kneel beside her. “It’s finally over.” Jaina stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. “He’s finally dead. I can move on.” She turned to look at Jaina, red glowing eyes shining with unshed tears, “And you want to know what I feel?” The mage cautiously nodded, “_Nothing_.” The word passed her lips as a whisper. “I feel nothing. No relief, no hate, no sorrow, no joy… just _nothing_.” She turned her gaze back to stare out over the expanse of Icecrown. “What was the point of all this, if at the end I’m nothing but a hollow shell? My revenge against that bastard means nothing if I don’t even _feel_ anything.” Sylvanas looked down at her hands, playing with the joins of her gauntlets, “I want to end it all. I’m finally free and I have no purpose. No goal. I can finally die, knowing everything is done. The world is finished with me.”

“And what about me?” Sylvanas looked up at the sound of Jaina’s voice, “What if I’m not finished with you? Did you consider that?”

“Jaina…” Sylvanas was at a loss for words. She had not considered how Jaina might have felt about her ending her life right here. The woman who she’d promised never to leave, never to be truly separated from again. And she’d almost thrown that all away. Thrown away years of love she still felt like she didn’t deserve. “I’m sorry.”

Jaina jumped back to her feet, pulling Sylvanas with her and wrapping her arms around the Elf’s neck. “Don’t be sorry. Just be with me.”

Sylvanas was shocked by this turn of events. She reacted in the only way she knew, bringing her arms around Jaina to wrap her in a tight embrace. “I’ll try.”


	5. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time period: Post-Cataclysm, Pre-Mists of Pandaria

**Grommash Hold, Orgrimmar**

Just as the sun was breaking over the horizon, the leaders of the Horde filed into the War room, taking special care not to walk over the map of Azeroth lain over the floor. The Warchief stood with his back to the rest of them at the far end of the room, staring up at the throne he’d had made specifically for this space. Garrosh had heard them enter, but did not acknowledge them for a minute, letting them wonder his reason for calling this meeting.

The brown-skinned Orc turned to face the assembled leaders. The weaselly Gallywix stood picking at his teeth, a disgusting example of his tiny race. Lor’themar Theron, the one-eyed Blood Elf staring down at the map, trying to figure out Garrosh’s next plan. Baine Bloodhoof, son of the great Cairne, who he’d killed in an honourless duel, keeping his gaze downcast. He’d never say it, but Garrosh did regret the death of the wizened Tauren. Through treachery had the duel been cut short, and the death of the Tauren had been felt by the whole Horde. Garrosh had let his ‘ally’ die at the hands of Cairne’s son, a fitting death for the snake. And finally, his gaze turned to the Banshee.

Sylvanas stood tall, arms crossed across her chest as her gaze flitted about the room, never staying on one person for too long. Garrosh treated her with complete and utter revulsion, as was necessary for someone of her... type. Her use of the Blight during Deathwing’s rampage had almost driven him to kill the undead Elf. Fortunately for her, murdering their queen was a sure-fire way to get the entire Forsaken people to turn on the rest of the Horde. Who knew what horrors the Banshee Queen had cooked up under The Undercity that Garrosh didn’t know about? He could not risk that war when another was on the horizon.

As always, her forever faithful champion stood behind her. Granakk, Champion of the Horde many times over, the man who’d been the last to fall against the Lich King. Led the fight against the fallen aspect Deathwing. Garrosh had a begrudging respect for the huge Mag’har, despite his extreme concerns for where his loyalties actually lay. He only allowed him to be in these meetings because unlike many of the others in the room, he saw the need for action when it was necessary. He did not give excuses or try to make peace at every turn. Willing to fight when it was needed and knew when to stop. Granakk’s strength would be necessary for the coming war, and Garrosh would ensure he would supply it.

“It is time for the Horde to stand tall.” Garrosh’s voice caught the attention of everyone in the room. “We must take advantage of the current... situation.” He began to walk slowly around the room, circling behind the leaders, “Weakness pervades itself across Azeroth. The Horde must rectify this on our own shores if we hope to cleanse it everywhere else.”

The others in the room exchanged looks, Lor’themar voicing their concerns, “What are you proposing, Warchief?”

He smiled, one that unsettled the rest of them, “I’m glad you asked.” His pacing had stopped on the Eastern Kingdoms side of the map covering the floor, quite deliberately. Garrosh walked across the floor, taking special care to land his foot over the Human capital of Stormwind. His movement stopped as he reached the shores of Kalimdor, a bit south of Orgrimmar itself. “For years now, the Alliance has maintained a significant foothold on Kalimdor. One I intend... to correct.” His meaning soon became obvious, as they all looked down to see his boot barely a few inches from the city of Theramore.

Sylvanas did her best to not let any reaction to this news show on her face. She could not stop the tiny intake of breath through her nose, nor the slight tensing of her muscles. Attacking Theramore was sure to end in disaster for both sides, a war neither the Horde nor Alliance would be able to win. Surely Garrosh couldn’t be this stupid? Jaina wouldn’t take the assault lying down, and Sylvanas wasn’t entirely certain if she could help the Warchief in this. She knew she was already on thin ice with Garrosh, and it wouldn’t take much to send the Orc over the edge against the Forsaken.

Granakk had seen Sylvanas tense up at the news. He was aware of the relationship between the Dark Lady and the Ruler of Theramore, and had been for years. He'd kept it a secret ever since Sylvanas had told him, seeing no sense in revealing that information. He was no stranger to how lonely life could be, so who was he to deny two people happiness, even if that same thing could start a war? He trusted Sylvanas knew what she was doing in this regard. He'd yet to find fault in her decisions since Icecrown.

Something had changed between the Banshee Queen and her champion that day on top of the Lich King’s citadel, a bond which they hadn’t quite figured out. It certainly had something to do with her ability to bring him back to life, a feat it should have taken the Val’kyr to achieve. Sylvanas had attempted to replicate the event to no avail. She’d surmised it had not in fact been her to resurrect the Orc, but some external force working through her. That revelation had been disturbing to say the least. Both had searched for the reason but came up short, choosing to wait for it to reveal itself, if it even would.

“We will destroy Theramore and drive the Alliance from Kalimdor once and for all.” The tone of finality in Garrosh’s voice shocked them all. They all knew in that moment that plans for this assault had been ongoing for at least some time, and this was not a suggestion on the Warchief’s part. This event was going to happen no matter what the rest of them thought of it.

Sylvanas broke the silence that stretched over the room, “This is not a wise course of action, Warchief. The Alliance will not take an assault like this lying down, especially on their one foothold on Kalimdor. And I believe you are forgetting who rules Theramore. Lady Proudmoore is likely to mount a significant defence in response. Horde casualties are assured.”

“Then it’s a good thing you are not Warchief, _Banshee_.” Garrosh spat the last word out. He stared into Sylvanas’ glowing red eyes, and she glared right back, “I would not have expected such a timid response from a thing like you.” Sylvanas clenched her fists closed, the metal of her gauntlets creaking at the force, “Need I remind you of the Kor’kron currently stationed throughout The Undercity? It would be unwise to test me now.” He strode closer to the Dark Lady, coming within a few steps of her. Granakk moved out from behind her, intending to move in front of the Elf but stopped at her side, a subtle suggestion from Sylvanas’ mind that he somehow heard even though she gave no physical indication. “Your belief in that Human mage’s abilities is quite concerning. Something to tell us?”

Sylvanas’ eyes widened at the suggestion. What did Garrosh know? And more importantly, _how_ did he know? She’d have to figure it out later, for now, she had to prevent suspicion falling upon her. “No, Warchief. Simply what I have heard of her abilities over the last few years.” She was almost grinding her teeth together, trying to stop herself from doing something stupid. Assaulting the Warchief in front of this particular crowd would not end well for her.

Garrosh maintained the staring match for almost half a minute, never once blinking, just waiting for the Banshee Queen to crack. He finally shrugged, turning away from Sylvanas, “Though it does not matter. Theramore falls... tonight.” He remained facing away from those assembled, “Granakk, I expect you on the ship to Theramore within the hour.”

And with that, the Warchief left, leaving the leaders of the races stunned into silence. It only lasted for a minute before they all started yelling at once, shouting over each other to be heard, their outrage echoing everywhere. All except for Sylvanas. She stood there completely still, her mind in overdrive trying to think of a way out of this situation. She had to do something. She couldn’t let Jaina die. Not after all this time, not after all they had sacrificed just to be together.

Lady Windrunner abruptly spun on her heel, slamming the door open and marching away from all the yelling. Granakk followed close behind, his huge strides easily keeping up with her feverish pace. He knew what she was thinking, and also knew there was no way to stop her from doing it. He could only follow.

Granakk only said something when they had left Grommash Hold far behind, Sylvanas leading him straight outside the main gates of Orgrimmar, “My lady…” She didn’t stop, didn’t even acknowledge he’d spoken, just kept moving. The Orc reached out, grabbing her shoulder and pulling only slightly, “Sylvanas!”

The Dark Lady spun around, throwing his hand off of her and holding a finger up in warning, “Don’t ever do that again.”

Granakk looked at Sylvanas, seeing something he’d never seen in her before. Didn’t know she was even capable of. Fear. All-consuming fear. The kind that haunted you for years after. Not even in Icecrown Citadel had he seen this from her, “Then don’t do something that’s going to get you killed.”

“And how exactly would you know what would get me killed?”

“Doing this, going to Theramore, _will_ get you killed. Garrosh won’t just sit back and ignore you going to an enemy!” Granakk knew that was the wrong thing to say the instant the words passed his lips.

Sylvanas stared at her champion, stunned at his audacity. For a moment, it looked as though she might strike him, no matter who was watching. They were standing not far from the gates of Orgrimmar. Far enough away not to be heard, but not far enough to be invisible. She visibly deflated, pinching the bridge of her nose and tamping down her anger. “What exactly do you expect me to do, Granakk?”

The Mag’har was surprised at her sudden change of demeanour. She almost never called him by his actual name when they were alone. Probably due to their intangible bond, she never needed to address him for him to know who her words were meant for. “Theramore is going to fall. It is inevitable. We know what Garrosh is like. He’ll have ensured this mission can’t fail, even if he has to level the entire place to the ground. And I have to go there. I can’t disobey a direct order from him, no matter how much I might want to.” The shaman sighed, crossing his arms across his plate-armoured chest, “You need to warn Lady Proudmoore.”

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow, “And how is that not going to get me killed like you so obviously think it will?”

“Warn her we’re coming. If you can get to Theramore fast enough, she should be able evacuate most everyone before I get there with the Horde’s forces. She’ll lose Theramore, but not the lives of her people. Warn her and get away.” He frowned, a dark look passing over his features, “If not… tell her I won’t be able to hold back. I will kill every Alliance soldier I face. For the Horde.”

Granakk turned and marched away from Sylvanas, heading towards the docks at the shore. His loyalty to the Dark Lady was almost unquestionable, but not when it came to disobeying a direct order from the Warchief. His loyalty to the Horde had never been tested against his loyalty to Sylvanas. But now that it was, he had to do what the Warchief wanted. Sylvanas knew this, and did not begrudge him the choice. He was a Champion of the Horde just as much as a Champion to her. Refusing Garrosh’s orders would betray the Horde, but following them would betray nothing and keep everything intact.

Sylvanas stood still for several minutes, pondering the Orc’s council. Granakk was smart. Part of the reason she’d chosen him as her champion. They did know that Garrosh would have ensured this mission was a success. How exactly, she needed to find out. Destroying a city the size of Theramore was no small feat. He would need massive siege engines for that. Most likely down by the docks.

Sylvanas transformed into her Banshee form, flying up and out of sight towards the docks. Hopefully, she would be able to figure out Garrosh’s plans. Hopefully, Jaina would listen to her. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to tell the love of her life that she was going to die.

* * *

**Jaina’s Tower, Theramore City**

Jaina sat at her desk, reading through the cost that repairs to Theramore’s defences had cost the city. Deathwing’s rampage across Azeroth had damaged even here, requiring extensive repairs to the sea walls especially. It would take some time before they’d paid that debt to the crown of Stormwind. She looked out the window over the city, watching the guards light the lanterns as the sun fell below the horizon beyond them.

“Hey Jaina!” The high-pitched voice of a Gnome interrupted her concentration. Jaina turned to face her apprentice, the pink-haired Kinndy Sparkshine, as she entered the room and wondered over to the desk, climbing the small stool she kept there specifically for the tiny mage. “Coming down to the tavern? They’re all asking where our illustrious leader is!” She waggled her eyebrows at her teacher, “And some very strapping looking gentlemen seem particularly interested.”

Jaina laughed loudly at her suggestion. Kinndy’s overly-positive attitude always brightened Jaina’s mood no matter the situation. Her apprentice didn’t need to know she wasn’t exactly interested in any ‘gentlemen’ at this point. “In a minute. Although I’m not sure if I should. Wouldn’t want to keep these fine-sounding men from you.”

“Pfft. No Gnomes to speak of in Theramore. And Dwarves are too hairy.” Kinndy shuddered, shaking her bright pink ponytails. A new round of laughter came from Jaina, widening Kinndy’s already ridiculously wide smile. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Oh alright.” Jaina packed away her books, rising from the chair and fastening her staff to her back.

“I doubt you’re going to need to fight them off, Lady Proudmoore.”

“You can never be too careful, Miss Sparkshine.” Kinndy poked her tongue out at Jaina in response.

They both made it all the way to the door before freezing on the spot. One of the windows flew open of its own accord, a powerful wind blowing in from outside, extinguishing every candle in the study. The room was heavily darkened without the light sources, feeling far more foreboding than it ever had before. The sound of heavy metal boots thudding on the floor filled their ears, both women turning to face the sound.

Two glowing red eyes shone out from under a hood. Black smoke curled around the figure’s limbs as it stood to its full height, its elven ears just visible in the pale light of the setting sun. The instantly recognisable red and purple armour clung to its frame, the skulls that adorned it signifying its owner’s state of being. Black arrow shafts with dark purple fletching were visible just behind the top of the bow strung across the figure’s back.

Kinndy was the first of the three of them to react, springing to attack the intruder. She let fly an ice lance double the size of her arm, easily dodged by the Elf. The second came too fast, just managing to nick the edge of an ear. The bow was drawn faster than the Gnome’s eyes could see, the Elf dropping into a forward somersault and coming to land on one knee. Kinndy was barely able to register the arrow that had been drawn before it was pointing directly at her forehead from only a few metres away. From this distance, there was no chance the Gnome could dodge the projectile, her only option would be to surround herself in an ice block, leaving Jaina alone to deal with the Banshee Queen. Not something she would ever do to her friend and teacher.

“Kinndy, please leave.” Jaina’s voice was soft, yet commanding. She had absolutely no idea how she could possibly explain why Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady, Banshee Queen of the Forsaken and Horde leader had flown into her study in the night. Her only solution was to get Kinndy out and hope she thought of an excuse later.

“I’m not going to leave you with her! We need to fight! She’s part of the Horde, most likely here to kill you! She’s-”

“Kinndy.” Jaina interrupted her apprentice’s words, her voice gaining a hard edge Kinndy had never heard before, “Leave. Now.” To cover herself, Jaina produced a fireball with one hand and a huge ice spike with the other. Kinndy swallowed, now sure that her being here would only get in the way of the ensuing battle. She swallowed hard and slowly backed out, keeping her eyes on Sylvanas the whole time, even as the Elf’s eyes tracked her right back.

Kinndy shut the door of the large study as she exited, Jaina letting go of her magic with a sigh, the fire and ice disappearing from her hands. She calmly walked over, casting the strongest muffle spell on the door that she could possibly muster. She knew Kinndy would likely be just on the other side, ready to join the non-existent battle the moment it seemed like Jaina might be losing. Hearing any conversation between Sylvanas and her that didn’t involve some sort of battle-taunts would be incredibly hard to explain.

Jaina turned back around to face Sylvanas, but barely made it three steps before the Elf had thrown her arms around her neck, holding her close. Jaina hardly had time to respond before Sylvanas drew back and kissed her, hard, cupping her face with cold metal gauntlets. The Human shivered, and not entirely from the touch of the metal.

The kiss ended, Sylvanas leaning her forehead against Jaina’s. It was only now that Jaina noticed the unshed tears in Sylvanas’ eyes. She had only known Sylvanas to cry in extremely rare situations, and after her death, she’d only seen it once, and that barely counted. “I’m sorry.” She could barely hear the Elf’s words, coming out as almost non-audible whisper.

Jaina had been planning to question what the hell Sylvanas was thinking coming to Theramore without telling her. They’d met here in person before, but only when Jaina had had weeks to prepare for the arrival, and make absolutely certain that they wouldn’t be disturbed. But now, seeing how distraught Sylvanas looked, she couldn’t bring herself to chew her out, “What for?”

Sylvanas wasted no time, jumping straight to the point, “You need to evacuate Theramore.”

Jaina drew back a bit further so she could properly see Sylvanas’ face, pulling the hood off the Elf’s head, “Excuse me?”

“Now, would be preferable.” Sylvanas knew exactly how much time they had left. She could fly relatively fast in her Banshee form and had made it to Theramore with time to spare, but she knew the Horde forces were already on their way. There had even been a favourable headwind, leaving them even less time to get people out of the city.

“Sylvanas.” She avoided Jaina’s gaze, “What reason could there possible be to evacuate the entire city?”

The Elf looked back up at her, a deadly serious look in her eyes, “Because the Horde is about to launch an all-out assault to destroy it.”

Jaina backed away, complete disbelief etched into her expression and her mind, “What? How? Why?”

“It’s the first step in Garrosh's plan to destroy the Alliance. Remove the strongest foothold you have on Kalimdor.”

The mage couldn’t understand what she was hearing. There had been skirmishes within Dustwallow Marsh with the Horde before, but if what Sylvanas was saying held true, this was a declaration of all-out war. She swallowed, knowing in her heart that Sylvanas wouldn’t lie to her, and it did sound like something the current Horde Warchief would do, “When?”

Sylvanas looked away guiltily, “Tonight.”

“To...To...Tonight?” Jaina managed to stutter out the word. Her mind went into overdrive, trying to process the information, quickly settling on anger, “How the hell am I meant to evacuate Theramore in a single night Syl? And I don’t even have the whole night!” She was yelling now, Sylvanas only standing there and taking her anger. “And when the fuck was this planned?” She whirled on the Elf, directing her rage partly at someone she knew didn’t deserve it, but couldn’t stop herself, “When did you know?!”

“This morning.” Sylvanas tried to think of anything she could say to make this better, make it feel like she hadn’t betrayed the woman in front of her, “Garrosh didn’t tell any of us his plan. He only told us it was going to happen this morning, so I had no time to stop it. I couldn’t even argue the stupidity of it. I found out what I could and came to tell you as soon as I did."

Jaina sat down heavily in the chair at her desk, putting her head in her hands and trying to think logically. “There’s no time.” She stared down at the wooden floor through her fingers, slowly accepting the reality of the situation. She regretted yelling at Sylvanas, quickly realising what a risk the Dark Lady had taken even coming here. If she was discovered to have warned Jaina of any of this, Garrosh would surely execute her for treason. She sat back up slightly, determined in her plan, “I have to fight. I have to defend Theramore.”

Sylvanas shook her head, “No, you’ll fall with the rest of them. The only solution is to evacuate. Save your people and save yourself. Garrosh gets what he wants, and you live.”

“I won’t just give in to that fucking warmonger!”

“The only other outcome is you die!” Sylvanas was desperate now, trying to get her love to see logic, “He’s sending an overwhelming force Jaina! You can’t win!”

“I think you underestimate-”

Sylvanas yelled over the top of her, “He’s bringing a fucking manabomb Jaina!” Those words silenced the mage, “He’s not just planning to kill everyone here, Garrosh is going to annihilate Theramore till it's nothing more than a fucking crater!” Calm was not an option for Sylvanas anymore, “Not only that, but he’s sending a small army to make sure it happens and Granakk is with them. I couldn’t stop him going after Garrosh ordered him to come.” She walked over to where Jaina was sitting, kneeling in front of the Human and placing her hands on Jaina’s knees, “Please Jaina, I’m begging you. Evacuate Theramore. Save everyone here.” Her voice broke, “I can’t lose you again.”

Jaina looked down at Sylvanas, the Elf’s plea echoing through her mind. “Where would we even go? How would I get everyone out?”

“You can teleport everyone away. Open a portal anywhere else but here. You just need to get out of Theramore.”

Jaina placed her hands over Sylvanas’, intertwining their fingers together. Her next words were going to be almost impossible for Sylvanas to hear, but they needed to be said, “I can’t abandon Theramore.” Sylvanas’ protests were silenced by a finger over her lips, “I know it’s stupid, I know it’s going to get people killed. But I have to. Just as you have to fight for your people, I have to fight for mine. I can’t just give Theramore up... even if it kills me.”

They both rose back to their feet, Jaina wrapping her arms around Sylvanas’ chest before she could get away. The Elf only struggled for a second before reciprocating, “Please just... get out alive.” Her whispered words sunk in, both of them tightening their hold on the other.

Jaina drew back, placing a gentle kiss on Sylvanas’ cheek, “I’ll do my best.” They separated, their hands staying connected for as long as possible as Sylvanas backed away towards the window she’d come in through.

“Be safe, my love.” And with those last words, Sylvanas vanished in a cloud of black smoke, fleeing out the window.

“You too.” Jaina whispered the words to herself, knowing Sylvanas would not be able to hear them, but needing to say them anyhow.

* * *

**North of Theramore**

Granakk stood at the prow of the ship, watching the lights of Theramore in the distance. They’d been sailing for hours before the city had come into view, their target glowing like a beacon. He still completely disagreed with the plan, starting an unnecessary war with the Alliance. He could not voice his concern in his current company, soldiers and Champions of the Horde alike.

Jastana stood at his side. The Blood Elf had exactly the same concerns he’d had, but had also chosen to keep it to herself. Just like him, she couldn’t betray the Horde, no matter her personal feelings. Her normally brightly coloured robes were completely black, the stealth needed for the mission necessitating the change. She wasn’t aware that Theramore would know they were coming. Granakk had not told anyone where Sylvanas was going. That particular information would cause more trouble than it was worth. The Orc sincerely hoped the Elf had been successful at her own mission. But, judging from the light coming from the city, she had not.

Granakk looked back at the zeppelin on the deck of the ship, with the huge glowing manabomb sitting next to it. He sighed, glancing at Jastana, her face set with grim determination. Goblins were rushing about the deck, getting their main attack ready for as soon as they came in range. The explosive would ensure their victory, that much was clear. Even if every single soul on this ship perished in the attack, as long as the manabomb went off, they will have won. And if no-one had been evacuated like he expected, the bomb was going to kill hundreds if not thousands of people when it did go off.

There were two other ships following close behind theirs, packed with even more Horde troops. Most were Orcs, Garrosh’s belief in the other races clear just from that fact. Only Granakk and Jastana had been asked to come on this mission from the ranks of the Horde’s finest. The Mag’har had been surprised to find Jastana down by the docks. Garrosh was not known for trusting missions as critical as this to anyone but an Orc. Perhaps the Blood Elf had been sent exclusively for his benefit, to keep him in line. He knew Jastana better than that though. She hated Garrosh more than he did. She wouldn’t do his bidding like that even if she was ordered to.

Granakk checked over his armour, tightening several of the straps and readjusting his gauntlets. This was going to be a hard fight, he knew that. His huge greatswords were leaning against the side of the ship, soon strapped across his back and ready for action. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the coming battle. Almost invisible sparks of lightning flared up over his body as he produced a shield around himself, protecting him from the inevitable projectiles. Small gusts of wind surrounded his weapons, the runes glowing briefly before fading back to nothing. Now he was ready.

“Having second thoughts?” Jastana’s voice broke the silence with a near whisper.

Granakk gave a short laugh, “About Garrosh’s plans? Never.”

“What did Lady Windrunner think of this?”

The Orc sighed, looking down at his friend, “Disagreed like the rest of them, but couldn’t do anything about it. Garrosh only told them this morning. I thought she might attack Garrosh to be honest. It would’ve been interesting to see.”

“Mmm. She should challenge him to a Mak’gora.”

Granakk raised an eyebrow, “And have Garrosh cheat so he could kill her?” He scoffed, “He claims to be honourable... wouldn’t know honour if it bit him on the arse.” He thought for a moment, “Besides... being Warchief isn’t really Sylvanas’ style.”

“True. She does work better from the shadows.”

Granakk knew Jastana had never understood his loyalty to the Banshee Queen, and likely never would. He couldn’t quite explain it himself. Part of it was that Sylvanas never claimed to be something she wasn’t. She didn’t necessarily tell the truth all the time, but she never tried to be what everyone else wanted her to be, like so many of the other leaders of the Horde did. Baine was essentially trying to be his father rather than his own man. Lor’themar did his best for the Blood Elves, but leadership like that never quite suited him right. Gallywix was a snake that would sell out his own kind for a quick payday. And Garrosh claimed to be like Thrall had been, but he would never be as wise or as tempered as the Doomhammer-wielding shaman.

Part of his loyalty definitely came from being resurrected by the Elf. He would always be eternally grateful to her for that, even if neither of them could explain it. He hadn’t been ready to die on the top of Icecrown Citadel and he still wasn’t ready for that. He was determined to live as long as he was still able to swing a sword, still able to fight for the Horde. And he needed to know why he’d been sent so far backwards in time. Even now after several years, he was no closer to an answer on that front.

The ship swung wide of Theramore, hoping to avoid any spotters the Humans may have had surrounding their harbour. Granakk could see that they were still in range to fire the cannons on the lower deck where they would still hit the defences of the city. Good. It would make this quicker if they didn’t have to contend with cannon fire as well.

Mag’har and Blood Elf made their way to the lower deck, leaning over the side railing. Once they were close enough, Jastana created a sheet of ice on the water, both of them lowering themselves down onto it. It creaked under Granakk’s weight, quickly reinforced to hold it. The rest of their troops got into small rowing boats, doing their best to remain quiet. Granakk closed his eyes, summoning powerful wind around him before releasing it backwards. The ice sheet rocketed forward towards their destination. While Granakk got them closer, Jastana hid them from sight with a spell, turning the two of them and their makeshift raft completely invisible. Outsiders would only see the ripples in the water they made, no evidence of the two.

Granakk looked back, spying the three ships were now in position. Their raft reached the end of the dock, shaman and mage climbing up and hiding behind large crates right at the end. Jastana released her spell, their forms springing back into view. The docks were still darkened, the guards patrol ending further down. The small boats with the rest of their forces waited further out in the water, prepared to land the moment the signal was given.

All at once, every single cannon on board the three ships fired. The explosion from them lit up the night as the projectiles passed over Granakk and Jastana’s heads, slamming into the walls of Theramore. They’d been aimed perfectly, destroying over half the defences that Theramore had in an instant.

Granakk rose up, drawing his weapons, looking down the dock at the lone guard. The Human panicked at the sight of the huge brown-skinned Orc; midnight black plate armour almost invisible in the dark. He ran away from him in fear, Granakk slowly building up his speed after him as he moved down the dock. He watched as a sudden line of Humans came into view, locking their shields together to from a wall against him. It would seem Sylvanas had been successful as warning them of the Horde’s attacks. Unfortunately, it would not matter.

The rest of the Horde forces began to land, all pulling themselves up onto the docks and joining Granakk in his charge. They all yelled their battle-cries as one huge wave, barrelling towards the enemy. Granakk leapt into the air as soon as he was close enough, smashing down right on top of them, a wave of lightning erupting from his feet. He spun, greatswords held out, carving through their plate armour like it was paper. The smell of blood filled the air as Granakk slaughtered all who came to him.

There were soon Orcs on either side of the Mag’har, the three working in unison to push the Alliance soldiers back. They were a wall of blades, slicing apart their far smaller foe. Granakk pierced through the centre of the chest of one Human, lifting him high into the air before catapulting his corpse into the next enemy. They collapsed together, a Horde soldier finishing both off. Granakk slammed his foot down, the earth opening beneath him as lava spewed out in a jagged line to the next foe. Screaming echoed everywhere as they burned, the shaman already moving on to his next target. Lightning flowed around him, blocking arrows that came soaring his way, or striking enemies that managed to get through his formidable physical defences.

Jastana stood further back, firing volleys of ice spikes at any target she could see. Since Icecrown, she’d redoubled her studies, twice the mage she’d been then, determined to never be what she’d seen as weak again. She called down a meteor and crushed several Humans beneath it, while at the same time a beam of arcane energy shot out of the end of her staff to pierce through two opponents at once. A Human warrior broke through the Horde lines, charging straight at her. Jastana’s staff twirled through the air, blocking every blow he attempted with his sword. She slammed the end down onto his foot, denting the plate metal in and shattering his toes. He grunted with pain, barely having enough time before the Blood Elf had created a sword of ice that extended out from her fist. She plunged it straight through the centre of his chest, all of his exposed skin turning blue as he was frozen from the inside out. She pulled it out, letting it melt straight away as the Human’s body collapsed to the ground, some of his metal armour shattering when it hit the docks.

Jastana joined Granakk in a small empty space just on the shore, nodding at the Orc. They both raised their hands up, channelling their powers into a spell that they’d only tried once before. The air crackled with energy as their power began to take form. They both felt sweat start to bead on their brows from the exertion, even as an almost humanoid form sprang into being between them. It began to solidify, lightning and wind pulsing across its skin as rock formed around it, the inside of it a raging torrent of water. Orc and Elf gave a final roar, finishing the spell with a flourish.

A huge elemental stood in between them, at least half again as tall as Granakk. The inside was that of a water elemental, its skin a solid sheet of ice. It had armour of earth, lightning crackling through the joints and skittering over the surface. Lava glowed where its eyes should have been along with at the tips of limbs. The new being roared its existence, charging toward the Alliance defence. Its first blow swept aside Human defenders even as arrows and swords alike bounced off its armour. Granakk followed close behind, using his creation as a shield, firing lightning bolts left and right, taking all by surprise. The elemental caught a huge cannon in its sight, rushing straight towards the large defence intended to take out warships. The cannon fired, catching the elemental straight through the chest. The cannonball burst through the other side, hardly slowing it down. The cannon was soon bent out of shape and crushed into uselessness; its operators tossed aside in the elemental’s anger.

Granakk and Jastana were soon sweating and short of breath from the toll of keeping the elemental fighting. They both let go of their control, their creation slowing down, taking a few more Humans to the grave before finally collapsing in a heap of water and rock. Some of the Humans were relieved, but the damage was done. The elemental had done its job, allowing the Horde to advance into the city proper as the Alliance defence collapsed.

A horn sounded from the Horde ship out at sea, signalling the next stage. Granakk prayed that Jaina had figured out how to counter what came next, otherwise… thousands were going to die.

* * *

**Theramore**

Jaina heard a war-horn echo through the night as she used her prodigious arcane talent against the tide of the Horde forces. The battle had been going for less than an hour, but that had been enough time for the Horde’s attack to be almost completely devastating. By her count, at least two thirds of the troops stationed in Theramore had been killed. The Horde’s initial strike had been exceedingly well executed, blowing apart their sea defences with the first volley. They didn’t have enough mages to protect them all, only managing to save three of them. Two of those had quickly been taken and rendered unusable by Horde troops, the third managing to destroy one of the Horde’s ships.

She’d caught sight of a massive elemental monstrosity that had broken through the gate and crushed the last cannon. Arcane and shamanic power had flown through it, and Jaina had instantly known who had created it. She’d never seen something like it. She doubted Azeroth ever had. Mages and shamans were not known to work together, and considering their bond, Granakk and Jastana were uniquely capable of producing something like that. If circumstances were different, Jaina would have loved to learn how the two of them had managed it. As it were, it meant the Horde’s attack was all the more likely to be successful.

Jaina had yet to see any sign of this manabomb that Sylvanas had told her about, but if her suspicions were correct, the horn indicated she was about to. She looked around even as she threw ice lances and fireballs, freezing and incinerating Horde troops. They needed to retreat deeper into the city. Use their knowledge of the streets to their advantage.

“RETREAT!” The Ruler of Theramore’s bellow swept over her forces, all of them obeying instantly. They drew back, the Horde forces following at the same pace. Jaina held her staff high, sweeping it back and forth. She created a wall of arcane energy between her people and the enemy, Orcs slamming their weapons into the magical barrier. All of her troops rushed past her, Jaina maintaining the barrier for a few more seconds, backing away and putting enough distance between them for her next attack.

Jaina released the shield, the Horde soldiers taking instant advantage and charging forward. She was ready. Jaina began to cast, an enormous sphere of ice forming above her head. With a shout, the orb detonated, a wave of ice shooting forward, covering the entire street in front of her. Those who were not run through by spears of ice were frozen to the spot, completely covered and unable to move. She’d made this road impassable, trying to funnel the Horde troops away from the bulk of Alliance forces and giving them time to recover.

Jaina retreated herself, soon coming to the heart of Theramore and her tower. She looked to the sky, seeing a dull orange glow. The docks were aflame, part of the Horde’s tactic to prevent any sort of attack on their ships out at sea, allowing them to keep firing. Jaina was surprised they’d managed to take out one of the three. For all his stupidity, Garrosh had planned this well. All of the Human ships would be burning, preventing them from using any of the munitions on board.

The north-eastern corner of the city was being defended admirably, sustaining by far the least casualties. It contained the barracks, so it was no wonder that it had. Jaina soon found herself among them, holding back the Horde with her men. She soon noticed their enemy pulling back, many straight up running away from their defenders. Then, Jaina heard it.

The distinct sound of a Goblin zeppelin. Her eyes widened as she realised what was happening. They were delivering the manabomb by air. Jaina turned tail, sprinting through the streets and climbing the first tower she came to. The mage burst through the roof’s door, sweeping her gaze out towards the sea. She saw the Horde’s greatest attack yet. The zeppelin was completely black, its engine roaring from the payload it was carrying.

The huge manabomb swung underneath its carrier, radiating purple arcane energy, begging to be detonated at any given moment. She’d never seen one that big before. It could easily take out the entirety of Theramore if Garrosh had made it correctly, and knowing the Warchief, he definitely had.

Jaina sprang into action, producing a massive spear of ice, aiming for the zeppelin’s engine. She released, the frozen attack streaking towards the vehicle. Before it could make it, the ice abruptly melted, falling short of its target. Jaina tried again, this time with fire, launching an orb far larger than herself. Once more, the attack failed, sputtering out before it could reach the mark. A volley of arcane missiles filled the air, creating an almost impenetrable cloud, zooming towards the air-borne goal. And once again, they did nothing to stop it. Jaina quickly realised there was nothing she could do. The manabomb was giving off so much arcane energy, any magical attack she could make was useless, the weapons own power overwhelming anything she could make.

The Human collapsed to her knees, realising she’d failed. She had lost Theramore. There was nothing she could do to save it now. There was no time to get enough archers to shoot it down. Not enough time to gather the mages and attempt to overwhelm the manabomb’s defences. Her eyes scanned around the city, glowing in the night. Along with the docks, at least half of it was being consumed by flames, choking the air with smoke. “I’m sorry Syl…” Tears tracked down her cheeks as she cast her eyes to the blackened sky. “I can’t keep my promise.”

Jaina's eyes fell on the manabomb as it tracked closer to its target. The glow because more pronounced, the payload more volatile as it went. It came over the walls when the screaming started, Alliance citizens looking up and seeing their impending doom. Jaina knew she could teleport herself away, knew she could save herself. But, how could she? How could she abandon her people to their fate when she wouldn’t face the same? No. As much pain as she knew her death would cause, she had to face it. As much as she knew it would break the love of her life’s very soul, Jaina knew she had to die here. Not even knowing how much sorrow she was about to cause Sylvanas could stop her.

Finally, the manabomb was in position, its carrier releasing its hold on the explosive. It fell like a meteor towards the ground, shining ever more brightly in the night. Just before it hit the ground, it looked like another sun, completely outshining the fires raging in other parts of Theramore. It detonated the second it made contact.

The shockwave hit her first, an overwhelming torrent of air that swept her hair and robes back. She felt the tower beneath her crack from just that. Time slowed down as the metal containing the magical energy tore itself asunder, unleashing the outburst of power that seemed to rip the very air around it apart. It had impacted the ground right next to Jaina’s tower, swallowing the structure in an instant, annihilating its very existence. The purple glow was almost blinding, scorching everything it touched.

As Jaina watched the explosion race towards her, her mind was screaming at her to do something. Anything that could possibly save even one life that wasn’t her own. Without thinking, she rose to her feet and began to cast. Even as the explosion reached one street away from her, she continued. Even as it blasted through that street and came within a few metres of the tower she now stood on; her spell continued. Even as the arcane eruption reached the edge of the building, Jaina’s spell took shape, an erratic sphere of energy in her outstretched hands. Even as the building beneath her began to crack apart from the magic, a bubble of her own power formed around her. Just when it seemed like it would reach her, the massive surge of arcane within a foot of her feet, the tower she stood on collapsing from beneath her, she let go.

Jaina’s hands rocketed forward, colliding with the huge wall of arcane energy, a scream tearing from her throat. Immediately, a gigantic barrier erupted from her hands, surrounding and containing the manabomb’s titanic power. She could feel it all, attempting to rip through her defence at all costs. She held it back, somehow, fuelled by her power. The tower beneath her began to crumbled down, Jaina staying on her feet at all costs and holding back the manabomb. She plummeted down, still maintaining her spell.

Soon, Jaina was standing atop a pile of rubble, her hands till connected with her barrier and casting the spell. She felt something drip down over her lips, quickly realising that her nose was bleeding from the exertion. She'd never put this much of herself through her magic, her body unable to keep up with it. Her blood dripped down, staining the front of her robes. Jaina felt her energy being drained away, losing the power she needed to maintain the spell. _No. I can’t stop now_. The Human pushed every last bit of herself into her magic, the barrier pulsing and reinforcing even as the manabomb continued to unleash its unrelenting strength. Her scream echoed over Theramore.

* * *

**Theramore**

Granakk had watched the manabomb fly over the walls, heading towards its intended target. He saw the purple explosion as it detonated, felt the arcane energy flow wildly through the air. Then, he heard the scream. The bomb’s radius stopped expanding, something stopping it from destroying all of Theramore like he knew it was capable.

The Orc ran through the streets, determined to find out why it had failed, why it had stopped. He pushed aside fleeing Horde and Alliance troops alike, his enemy not even bothering to stop him. They knew they’d lost, and now they were just trying to get out alive. The crowds became thinner as he came closer to the centre of the explosion, still some ways off right in the middle of Theramore itself. Soon, he was running through empty streets, still sprinting towards where he’d heard the scream.

Granakk turned the corner and finally saw the source. Jaina stood on top of ruined building, her hands thrust up against the explosion, somehow creating a barrier large enough and powerful enough to hold back all of the manabomb’s might. She was letting out a wordless scream, all the while continuing to pump out the magical prowess required for her current feat.

Granakk could see the havoc it was playing on the Human’s body. Her blood dripped down the front of her face, staining her robes. He could see it trickling out of her ears, leaving a sanguine path down to her neckline. The arcane energy from the bomb was ravaging everything it could touch, and unfortunately for Jaina, that was mostly her.

The explosion expanded slightly, sending the mage sliding back a step. Granakk heard a grunt from her, bringing her foot back forward and trying to hold the explosion where it was. He could feel her use everything she had, and it was beginning to show more prominently on her body. Granakk watched in astonishment as her hair began to change, starting at her scalp. Ever so slowly, the base began to turn snow white, creeping along the strands being blasted out behind her. The blood running down her face and ears increased in volume slightly, drops staining the hair red even as more of it turned white. Eventually, only a lock coming from the centre of her forehead was still the gold that it had once all been.

He could feel the energy start to wane within the Human. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. He knew what he should do, what Garrosh would’ve wanted him to do. Slay the Human while she was weak. Remove a powerful enemy of the Horde while he could. But he wouldn’t, no, he couldn’t. It was not the honourable thing to do.

Nothing about this mission had been honourable. Nothing about Garrosh’s Horde had been honourable since he’d become Warchief. And it had taken the almost complete destruction of a city for Granakk to see that. He had never agreed with Garrosh, but he’d followed because the other Orc had been the Warchief, and Granakk was a Champion of the Horde. This was not the Horde he’d joined, not the one he was proud to be a part of. Thrall’s Horde was dead and gone, only Garrosh’s pale imitation in its place.

Shame filled the Mag’har up, knowing that he had been a part of this atrocity. He gripped the greatswords in his hands harder, feeling the leather beneath his grip deform. He'd murdered so many Humans in the past several hours. It was not the honourable deaths they deserved; it was him slaughtering them. He marched closer to Jaina, intent on either helping her, or surrendering to her mercy. He never got the chance.

The manabomb used up the last of the energy stored within it, giving one last pulse before completely dissipating. Jaina realised within a second, letting go of her spell. She collapsed forward, falling to her hands and knees, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come to her. Blood dripped down to form a pool underneath her. Her long hair fell around her face, the Human’s hand rising to it and seeing how much the spell had truly taken from her. Physical changes like this were only the result of such extreme magic use that the body began to look for power outside of its normal reservoirs. She'd aged herself with this, at least her hair. As she sat back on her feet, her hands flew up to cover her mouth in shock.

In front of Jaina was a crater. Starting barely a foot in front of her, the huge cavernous space dropped into the earth, nothing left of what had been there. Purple lightning still crackled everywhere from the sheer amount of energy that been brought to bear against the earth. As if to prove the destruction the bomb had caused, a tower on the other side collapsed into it, the rubble tumbling down into the crater. More than two thirds of Theramore was gone, annihilated by the blast that Jaina had prevented from going further.

“I’m sorry, Jaina.”

Jaina’s head whipped around to face Granakk, immediately climbing to her feet and attempting to summon a defence. She swayed on the spot, a tiny spurt of fire coming from her hands, and then nothing. She was too exhausted, nothing she could do to stop the Orc from killing her if that was what he intended. She saw the guilt and regret in his face and knew he wasn’t going to attack. Her hands fell to her sides, her voice coming out an angry whisper, “Garrosh has gone too far...” And even quieter, “I should have listened to Sylvanas.”

“You did what was right for your people, Jaina. No one deserves this. This is not war. It’s genocide.”

“Well... Garrosh got what he wanted. Theramore is finished.” She looked up into Granakk’s blue eyes, “Are you going to kill me? Or capture me? I doubt I could stop you either way.”

The Mag’har thought for a moment, considering his options, “Neither.”

She was surprised, “What?”

“You’re right. Garrosh has gone too far. Killing you would be the greatest dishonour I could bring upon myself. Capturing you almost just as much.” His next words were hard to say, knowing they’d change his life from this moment on, “I won’t fight for that monster anymore. I’d rather die than kill another person for Garrosh.” His ears perked up, the heavy footfalls of Orcish boots coming nearer to their position. “You need to get out of here Jaina.” He turned away, twirling his blades through the air, the metal singing as it sliced through it.

“What? But-”

“I’ll hold them off while you get your strength back.”

Jaina almost refused, knowing what Granakk was doing. He was sacrificing either his life or his freedom, just for her. She’d never doubted the Orc’s honour, but this was a new one, even for him. He was betraying every belief he held, because it was the right thing to do. He was giving up everything he had in this life to save her.

The Orcs came around the corner, seeing Granakk and Jaina. They began their charge, obviously straight at Jaina, intent on killing the Ruler of Theramore. Granakk didn’t even let them get close. The greatsword in his right hand pierced straight through the heart of the first Orc, lifting him from the ground, and slamming him back down. The other blade sliced across, decapitating another.

Every other Orc slowed, several metres behind their now deceased frontrunners. They all looked at Granakk with confusion and rage at seeing him kill their comrades. He only stared back.

“The only way you get to her,” Granakk let his power flow through him, lightning and wind crackling along the blades in his hands, power practically radiating off of him. He roared the next words, “IS THROUGH ME!”

They charged as one, Granakk ready for them. Jaina watched as his blades sung through the air, blocking every strike that came his way and carving through his Orcish brethren at the same time. Lightning bolts struck from the ends of the swords, some incapacitating his foes before they could even get in range. Every step sent a crack through the ground, lava spewing forth and swallowing other soldiers. His defence wasn’t perfect, turning to face an opponent only for an axe to bite deep into his side. The injury only seemed to heighten his awareness, cleaving the limb from the one who’d managed to hit him, a savage kick to the chest sending them sprawling away. The axe remained imbedded in his side, held there by the plate it had cut through.

Jaina attempted a portal, the magic quickly fizzling out. She couldn’t let Granakk’s sacrifice be for nothing. She tried again, this time a little bit more successful. Finally, after controlling her breathing and several more attempts, she succeeded, the portal springing into being in front of her. She fell through, the magic snapping closed the moment she was gone.

Granakk noticed her gone, cutting down the last Orc that had come for him. He was breathing hard, surrounded by the corpses of his people. The axe in his side was painful, tenderly reaching back and removing it from himself. He was never very adept with the healing side of his shamanic powers, but managed to seal it up. A large jagged scar was left behind, the best he could hope for considering his skill.

That was how the Horde forces found their greatest Champion. The blood and bodies of his own people surrounding him, staining his weapons and armour alike. He didn’t try to stop them disarming him of his greatswords. He didn’t stop them binding his wrists behind him. He didn’t stop them dragging him away. He was only filled with regret for what they done here.

* * *

**Prison, Beneath Orgrimmar**

Granakk sat at the back of the cell, his arms raised painfully into the air and chained to the roof. Runes pulsed on the metal, cutting off his connection to the elements. He sighed. He knew this where his treason would lead. It was only a matter of time before he was executed. Publicly, if he knew the Warchief.

He’d been dragged into Orgrimmar in the dead of night, no one even noticing his presence. Stripped of his enchanted armour and weapons, manacles placed on him almost straight away to prevent any resistance. He wouldn’t have given any, but they still did it. He had been taken to a place he did not know existed, through the dark depths of Orgrimmar into a prison. Shoved into one the tiny cells, they’d bound him even further and left him to rot.

By his estimation, he’d already been down here a week. There was no way to tell, no sunlight came this far down, only able to judge from how much he’d slept. His jailors hadn’t given any food or drink either. Did Garrosh want him to starve before he could execute him? Perhaps he just wanted him weakened. Weakened enough to be broken to his will? Garrosh would have a far harder job than he anticipated if that was the case.

There was a clanging of a metal gate being opened, the heavy footsteps of several people echoing in the prison. Granakk knew what it was before he came into view.

The Warchief wrenched open the door to Granakk’s cell, holding a torch aloft and sending a flickering light over the place. Rats scurried away and out, Garrosh paying them no mind as he stared at the prisoner.

“I should kill you right now.” He strode forward, stopping when he was towering over the Mag’har. “Of all the Horde, I thought you would understand the Orcish ways. Of conquering our enemies, crushing out weakness wherever we saw it.”

“You know nothing of Orcish ways.” Granakk’s head rose up, meeting Garrosh’s gaze, “You know only of how the demons corrupted us and turned us into mindless monsters. At least your father actually drank the blood. He had an excuse for his monstrous acts before finally redeeming himself.” He could see the rage burning in Garrosh’s eyes, “There’s no redeeming you.”

The fist collided with Granakk’s jaw, sending his head snapping sideways. He coughed, spitting out blood to stain the floor. “I was going to execute you for treason. But now... I think I might let you stew a while. See how long you last down here until you’re begging for death.”

Garrosh walked out, slamming the cell door closed. Granakk’s laughter followed him, “You’re going to die Garrosh! Mark my words! If it's not my hands around your throat, SOMEONE WILL COME FOR YOU! AND I WILL BE THERE, LAUGHING AS THE LIFE DRAINS FROM YOUR PATHETIC CORPSE!”

Granakk’s head lolled back against the wall, the punch affecting him far more than he’d care to admit. He felt unconsciousness start to claim him, soon catching up and leaving him still hanging from the roof. The greatest Champion of the Horde was locked away beneath its capital, left to die for his crimes.

* * *

**Two Months Later**

He felt someone coming before he heard it. A presence he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten anything, even further back than when he’d last drank. Even light was a foreign concept to him now, save for the flicker of torch lights that occasionally passed his cell. He felt weak, knew he was weak. After so long down here, the days where he was taken out into the darkness and tortured were a blessing. At least that, that he could still feel. Otherwise, there was nothing. Nothing to do but think about his life. Where had it all gone wrong? Where had he stopped thinking for himself and just blindly followed those ranked above him? When had he started committing atrocities because that’s what was demanded of him?

The presence was soothing, a balm for his soul. He soon heard the metal boot falls, along with a softer pair. Several thuds like sacks of grain falling over, the gurgling of a tiny stream. He raised his head from where it hung, light swimming into his vision at the edge of his cell door. Then, two figures, shrouded in shadow, stood outside. The taller one grabbed the door, breaking the lock open with her bare hands. She strode inside, twin glowing red orbs beneath her hood a miracle to see.

“Sylvanas?” His voice came out as a croak. He’d barely used it in the time he’d been down here. Only to scream when they’d finally managed to break him after unending torturing sessions. He hadn’t bothered to hold himself back in the ones after that one.

Sylvanas squatted down next to him, reaching out and running a cool gauntlet over the side of his head. He could see her face screw up with anger as her eyes scanned down, seeing the still open wounds covering his huge body. “Don’t talk.” Her two-toned voice was a relief to hear. He wasn’t hallucinating this time. She was really here. He’d seen her dozens of time, but had gotten used to them all being his mind playing tricks on him.

The other figure came into his cell, glowing green eyes of equal relief for him. Jastana reached out, but drew back, afraid of injuring the Mag’har more than he already was. “I’m so sorry Granakk.” He could see the tears in her eyes, trying valiantly to stop them from falling. He used what little strength he had, placing his hand on her shoulder. Her gaze snapped up to lock with his. He gave a tired smile, showing several broken teeth, and places where they were now missing.

The tears fell, her two tiny hands gripping his one giant. He was certain she was likely stronger than him after all this time. His muscles had wasted away being down here, a literal shadow of the man he was when he’d come down here.

“There’ll be time for reunions later.” Sylvanas shifted herself, getting under the shaman’s right arm. “We need to get out of here.” Jastana nodded, getting under the left.

The two Elves lifted the Orc with almost no effort. His feet dragged on the ground from his sheer height, his fleeting strength not enough to lift them up and walk for himself. It was slow going, trying to make as little noise as possible while not hurting their burden. His eyes cast around as they walked through the prison’s halls. There were Orcs impaled on melting ice spikes, held upright on the wall. Several were dead on the floor from obvious arrow wounds, but no arrows. Sylvanas had obviously been careful to leave no evidence they’d been here. Jastana had only used her frost powers it seemed. All evidence would melt before anyone saw.

They took a turn he wasn’t expecting, away from where he thought the entrance was. This tunnel continued for a long while, twists and turns through the earth. They soon left behind the Orcish architecture, only freshly dug tunnels around them. Before he knew it, they were outside, the star-filled sky far above them. They were outside Orgrimmar, he knew that much. The city made noise even in the dead of night.

The shaman breathed deeply, clean air filling his lungs. He smiled despite himself, just managing to murmur, “Thank you both.”

A small cart drawn by two mounts awaited them. Sylvanas’ undead steed regarded him with glowing red eyes just like its masters. The riding wolf that he’d gotten Jastana a year ago lay on the ground, one yellow eye opening to look at him. The two Elves slowly hoisted the Orc, laying him down in the cart, atop what he was sure was several layers thick of blankets and furs. Both then climbed atop their mounts, pulling the cart away.

Granakk was free once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. It's Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time period: Mists of Pandaria, Post Purge of Dalaran, approximately a month after Granakk is released from underneath Orgrimmar

**Dalaran, Crystalsong Forest, Northrend**

Sylvanas carefully poked her head around the corner, eyeing the Human Kirin Tor guards as they slowly walked past her position. She was hiding at the base of the Violet Citadel’s main tower, waiting for an opportunity to make her next move. The guards patrolled every inch of Dalaran, making it almost impossible to sneak into the city unseen. The fact that she’d made it this far without being detected was surprising to even Sylvanas herself. She was convinced she’d have to incapacitate at least a few guards on her way to her final goal.

Checking that the area was clear one last time, Sylvanas transformed, accelerating up the side of the tower and flying over the balcony she needed. She turned back into her physical form on the other side, rolling into a silent crouch and turning still once more, listening for any sign that she’d been seen. When none came, she stood to her full height, silently padding over to the door of the room she found herself in and opening it a crack.

The hallway leading to her destination was dark, not a single one of the torches lining the hall lit. This surprised Sylvanas, given that it was the middle of the night and after such a divisive event within the city, surely some of them would be lit? To better protect against intrusions such as hers at least. She probably shouldn’t have been worrying about Dalaran’s current security situation given who she was here to see. That it was lax in her mind was probably a good thing.

Sylvanas walked slowly down the hallway, careful to keep her passage through the Citadel quiet. She soon came to the door she needed, stealing herself for the next part of her plan. Calmly as she could muster, the Dark Lady opened the door and stepped inside the room, silently shutting it behind her. The Banshee turned to look at the woman she’d come to see, currently leaning hard on a desk on the far side of the room. Her once golden hair, now almost entirely snow white, splayed haphazardly about her shoulders, speaking to the great stress of the situation she found herself in.

Before Sylvanas even had a chance to say a single word, Jaina’s voice rang out through the room, “What are you doing here, Sylvanas?”

“I came to see you.” She was not the least bit surprised the Arch Mage knew she was there. Jaina had always known when she was near.

“Well, you’ve seen me. Now you can leave.” Her tone came across as acidy as she felt. The last several months has been an awful experience. Losing Theramore along with thousands of its inhabitants. The betrayal of Horde factions within the Kirin Tor to help steal the Divine Bell. Her decision to purge Dalaran of the Sunreavers and any Horde presence. The continued war with the Horde led by Garrosh Hellscream in Pandaria worsening every day. She’d had trouble reconciling her own views on keeping the neutrality of the Kirin Tor in this war, finally deciding to ally with the Alliance. And now, here was Sylvanas, a connection to the Horde she wasn’t sure she could maintain anyway, no matter how much she cared for the Elf.

“Jaina...”

The Human looked guiltily back at Sylvanas, still standing near the door, “Sorry. It’s been a horrible few weeks.” She sighed, massaging between her eyes with one hand, “I don’t know how much more of this war I can take. Every day some new atrocity comes to light. Garrosh has to be stopped, but I don’t know if he can be.”

“I’m working on it.” Jaina looked surprised up at the Elf, “What? He's not just hurting the Alliance. If you’re not an Orc in the Horde at the moment, you might as well be part of the Alliance with how Garrosh thinks of us.” Her expression became far more serious, “I need to know Jaina. Why did you ally the Kirin Tor with the Alliance?” Before she could respond, Sylvanas continued, “And I don’t mean as opposed to the Horde.”

“Because the Sunreavers betrayed us all. And Garrosh, and therefore by extension the Horde, need to be stopped. I can use the Kirin Tor to do that.” Jaina could feel her anger rising just at the thought of the events of the past few months, “Every time I push for peace, something fucks it up.” She looked back up into Sylvanas' eyes, her voice growing cold, “So I’ll bring peace the only way I have left. Dismantle the Horde.”

“And what will that solve?” The Dark Lady could sense that Jaina hadn’t thought this plan through as much as she should have before carrying it out. “Say you destroy the Horde tomorrow. What then? What about all the Orcs, Tauren, Trolls, Forsaken, Blood Elves and Goblins who weren’t part of Garrosh's war machine? What happens to them?” She scoffed, a thought occurring to her, “What happens to me?”

“We’ll deal with that when it comes to it.”

“See? You haven’t though this through Jaina! You don’t have a plan beyond killing Garrosh! That will solve one problem with a dozen others! You’ll start another war!”

“No, it won’t. We’ll have peace and-”

“NO!” Sylvanas exploded, silencing Jaina. “Peace? You think purging Dalaran of the Sunreavers was a path to peace? You think killing Garrosh will bring peace? How will any of this bring peace?”

“AT LEAST I’M DOING SOMETHING!” Jaina got in Sylvanas’ face, poking her in the chest, “You’ve been near that monster for months. Why haven’t you done anything?”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at Jaina, “Kill the Warchief of the Horde? Do you really think I’m that stupid? Killing Garrosh would only get me killed in the process! I act directly against him and he sends an army to destroy the Undercity. He kills every Forsaken he can get his hands on.”

“And while you’ve done nothing, your precious Horde blew up my home!”

In that moment, Sylvanas didn’t think she’d ever been angrier at Jaina. She saw red, her voice rising from talking normally straight to yelling at the top of her lungs, “_My_ _Horde?_” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “_MY HORDE?! _You think I agreed with destroying Theramore? You think I wanted to destroy _your_ home? YOU THINK THIS IS WHAT MY HORDE IS?” Sylvanas’ eyes flashed an even brighter red, “I warned you the second I possibly could about the attack! I betrayed the Horde to tell you about it! I risked my life for _you_!” She tried to calm herself down, to no avail, so could only continue, “You accuse me of doing nothing, Jaina. And yet that’s exactly what you did. You could have saved all of them. You could have saved all of Theramore’s people, but instead you chose to fight and have them all die for you!”

“Don’t put that on me! I had to defend-”

“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING!” The Dark Lady couldn’t contain her rage, “IT’S YOUR FAULT THEY’RE ALL DEAD, JAINA! YOU COULD’VE SAVE THEM ALL IF YOU’D JUST LISTENED!” She scoffed, turning and pacing away, “And you know what else? It’s not just the people of Theramore that suffered. One of the greatest champions Azeroth has ever had nearly died because of you.” She whirled back around, staring at Jaina dead on, “After Theramore, I spent months searching for Granakk. You want to know where I found him? Beneath Orgrimmar, barely clinging to life after weeks of endless torture. All because he dared to defend you. Sitting in his own filth in a cell so small I couldn’t even stand up straight in it, let alone him.”

Jaina quivered with fury, clenching her fists closed almost hard enough to break the skin of her palms. She finally couldn’t keep it in anymore, “SHUT UP!” Her sudden outburst shocked Sylvanas into silence, the ground beneath her feet covered with a thin film of ice, “How dare you blame me for their deaths! It’s Garrosh’s fault they’re dead! He started this war! Plunged all of Azeroth into it!” She marched towards the Elf, forcing her to take a step backwards, “I defended Theramore for the people of the Alliance! I couldn’t let Garrosh just destroy it without a fight! That would’ve been a bigger injustice than what happened. To just let him win.” Jaina turned away, throwing her hands up in the air, “But I guess you wouldn’t understand, would you? You’ve never truly been loyal to the Horde. Always working against everyone in some way. Hell, even now you’re working against Garrosh and everyone that follows him. Probably plotting against the Alliance as well! Loyalty is a foreign concept to you, isn’t it Sylvanas?”

The Banshee Queen stood still, staring at the back of Jaina’s white-haired head. She couldn’t deny most of Jaina’s assertions, but she was wrong about one of them. Very wrong. “I was loyal to you.” The words came out as a whisper, a far cry from the yelling she’d been doing less than a minute before.

Jaina was startled by her words. She turned back to Sylvanas, with a slight look of alarm etched into her face, “Was?” She swallowed. There was a finality in that word. One she sincerely hoped Sylvanas didn’t mean.

“Yes. Was.” Sylvanas’ expression grew cold, “I would’ve betrayed anything and everyone for you, Jaina.” A short bark of laughter, and a look to the ceiling, “In fact, I have. My loyalty is incredibly hard to earn for a reason. Arthas made sure of that. Everyone who sees me wants to kill me. It’s true, even now.” Her gaze returned to Jaina’s shocked one, “After you wanted to go back to how we were before everything, I was all for it. I thought, maybe this is one part of my life that Arthas hasn’t torn away from me. You were literally the _only_ person I could be who I was before he ran Frostmourne through my heart around. Everyone else only saw the Banshee Queen. They didn’t want me to be who I was then. Only the monster I had become. But I thought you were different. I was wrong.”

Jaina could feel tears prickling at the edge of her vision, “Syl-”

The Elf held up a hand, “Don’t. Don’t even try to convince me otherwise. You’re just like everyone else, Jaina. You want the version of me whose eyes were blue, instead of my skin. The Sylvanas whose own people didn’t run in terror at her coming. The one whose hands aren’t stained with the blood of thousands of innocents.” Sylvanas swallowed, “The one who you loved and who loved you back.” She turned away, walked to the door, and opened it wide, “Goodbye, Jaina.”

The door slammed behind her, echoing in Jaina’s rooms for what seemed like an eternity. The mage stood still in the centre, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The love of her life had just ended a relationship they’d both so desperately fought to keep going, despite all the obstacles in their way. They both had, right? Or was Sylvanas right? Deep down, did Jaina really only want the Sylvanas who was still alive back? Had she ever really accepted what had happened to the warm and kind woman she’d known all those years ago? The thought sickened Jaina to her very core. That she could be even capable of throwing away Sylvanas’ love, no matter what had happened to her or what form she was in.

Jaina collapsed into a chair, burying her face into her hands, the despair finally taking over. Sylvanas was gone. For good this time. There would be no salvaging the two of them from here. They were finished.

* * *

**Krasus’ Landing, Dalaran, Crystalsong Forest, Northrend**

Sylvanas had barely bothered to hide herself on the way down here from the Violet Citadel. What she’d come here to do was now a moot point. Convincing Jaina to stay out of the war had been a fool’s errand, she should’ve realised before even embarking on it. She’d snuck out of the Citadel without being seen, simply turning into her Banshee form and flying over the streets till she made it to Krasus’ Landing at the edge. Not a single one of the guards had bothered to look up and see her. The Landing was deserted at this time of night, perfect for her.

She made it the edge, leaping onto the wall and looking across at the floating island. There was a Forsaken mage, hiding in plain sight, prepared to teleport them away when she needed it. She was about to.

“Sylvanas.” The Dark Lady froze. The voice was one she hadn’t heard in years, had thought to never hear again. She slowly turned to face it, looking into the eyes of her younger sister, Vereesa. The High Elf looked surprised, but not necessarily displeased to see her. “What are you doing here?”

Sylvanas noted that Vereesa had drawn her bow, though she had not drawn an arrow with it, and it was currently slack at her side. “It doesn’t matter now.” She turned fully to face her sister, dropping from the wall to stand a few metres in front of her. “What I came to do was not possible. I shouldn’t have tried.”

Vereesa’s eyes widened as she realised who Sylvanas had come to see, if not necessarily why, “You came to see Jaina.”

Sylvanas saw no sense in hiding it now, “Yes. I did.” She shouldn’t have been surprised that her sister had figured it out so quickly, but she still was. She avoided Vereesa’s gaze, hanging her head down. Vereesa had been the only person who’d been aware of her and the Human’s relationship when she’d been alive. The younger Elf had said she was happy for her elder sister, glad she’d found someone, even if they hadn’t exactly been able to be together in public.

“You… you and Jaina… still…” Vereesa couldn’t quite form the words to voice her thoughts.

Sylvanas nodded, before quickly shaking her head, “We were. But not anymore.”

Of any relationship, Sylvanas and Jaina had always seemed inseparable to Vereesa. That nothing could tear them apart. It seemed that not even death had been capable of that, but obviously something else had been. “Not anymore? What happened?”

The Undead Elf’s expression grew dark, “I’ve realised that it wasn’t me who Jaina wanted. At least, not who I am now. It’s done.”

Sylvanas turned, leaping back onto the wall and preparing to leave once more. “Lady Moon, stop.” Hearing the nickname her elder sister had given her caused Sylvanas’ step to falter, freezing on the spot once more. Vereesa climbed up next to Sylvanas, laying her hand on her shoulder, “At least talk to me.”

The Banshee Queen glanced at her sister, considering just transforming and flying away. She sighed, sitting down on the wall with her legs hanging off the edge. Vereesa joined her, sitting only a small distance away, any closer and their shoulders would be pressed together.

“Why did you come to see Jaina?”

Sylvanas didn’t answer for a moment, pondering how much she should let her sister know. It was one thing telling Jaina potentially sensitive Horde intelligence, but she hadn’t seen her sister in years. Not since before she died. Sylvanas wasn’t sure if she could trust her properly. “I came to talk Jaina out of getting involved in this war.”

A sharp intake of breath was all she got from Vereesa for more than a minute. The silver-haired Elf had been at the front of helping Jaina purge Dalaran of any Horde presence. She’d killed her fair share in that bloody affair. “I don’t think there’s anyone that could. Not after everything that’s happened. Not after Theramore. The Divine Bell was just the tipping point.”

Sylvanas scoffed, “Theramore? She could’ve saved everyone there, if she’d just listened.”

Vereesa’s eyebrows shot up her brow, “Wait, what? How?”

Once more, Sylvanas wasn’t sure how much she could tell her sister. Deciding to trust her was difficult. She thought it over, deciding the risk wasn’t very great. It wasn’t like Vereesa had anyone in the Horde she could tell of the Dark Lady’s betrayal, “I told her. The day of the attack. I warned her the instant I knew. Garrosh sprang it on us on the very day it happened. I couldn’t stop it, but I was damn well not going to have Jaina killed because of it.” She stared down at her lap, “I told her to evacuate, save all those lives. But she didn’t listen. She said she had to defend Theramore, ‘For the Alliance’. What good is defending a place she had no chance of holding?”

“And you haven’t done the same for your people?”

Sylvanas pondered Vereesa’s words. She was well aware her sister was not speaking of the Forsaken. The only other option left was when she’d laid down her life against the Scourge. “It’s not the same. I couldn’t have saved them all. Jaina could have. I had to buy time for everyone, either to mount a better defence or simply to get away. I gave Jaina all the time she would’ve needed.”

“Okay, it’s not exactly the same situation, I'll admit. But the reason is similar enough. You defended Silvermoon because it was your duty to do it. You had to defend everyone even if it cost you your life. Even if it cost them theirs. You just had to do it. It was that simple.”

Sylvanas fully turned her head to look into Vereesa’s eyes. The sense she was making was hitting the Banshee at her core. “You’ve grown wise Little Moon.” A slight smile creased the younger Elf’s lips at the affectionate nickname, “Wiser than I was at your age. Perhaps wiser than I am now.” She looked back up at the sky, “Definitely than I am now.”

“There’s still time to fix this, Sylvanas. If you want to.” Vereesa didn’t want to push her sister, but she could sense the sadness coming off her in waves. Sylvanas was hurting, far more than she herself would care to admit. It just depended on whether she would act on it.

“That’s the thing. I’m not certain I want to fix it.” The Dark Lady sighed, staring down at her hands, playing with the edges of her gauntlets, “Being with Jaina is the only part of my life from before... everything... that I had left. It's the one part I thought I would never give up. But... what’s the point of it? We can’t even be together in public. It would literally start a war if we were, or make this one worse than it already is. Garrosh would destroy the Forsaken if he found out. Months on end of no contact, we’re together for a few hours, than nothing for months again. What's the point of that? We’re better off not together.”

Vereesa watched as Sylvanas’ ears drooped down lower, a sure sign of her resignation to her new reality. There was most likely nothing she could say to convince her elder sister of anything but what she’d already done. “I’m not going to try to convince you otherwise, but I'll just say this. What the two of you had, especially with the way our lives are... it’s rare. Incredibly so.” She swallowed, her voice growing thick with emotion, “I lost that when Theramore was destroyed. Rhonin was there too. I lost so much that day.” She looked up at Sylvanas, a blank expression on the undead Elf’s face as she took in her sister’s words, “If you truly think it’s not worth keeping, if only for those fleeting moments you can be together, I'm not going to stop you. But please, don’t throw it away for no reason, Lady Moon.”

What Vereesa did next, she had not done in years. She reached over, lacing her and Sylvanas’ fingers together and gripping tightly. It only took a second for Sylvanas to respond in kind. A gesture of affection they’d used years ago in the forests of Quel’Thalas. The silver-haired Elf leaned over, resting her head on Sylvanas’ shoulder as they both looked out over Crystalsong. “I’ll... I'll think about it.” Sylvanas managed to stammer that much out.

They sat together for several minutes, a comfortable silence stretching between the sisters. Vereesa finally broke it, lifting her head when she saw the first rays of sunlight breaking over the horizon. Sylvanas saw it too, straightening up slightly. “You’d better get going. It would not do well for someone to see you here.”

“Yes, true.” They both stood, casting one more look out over Crystalsong Forest. Sylvanas relaxed her grip on Vereesa’s hand, turning to face her just as Vereesa did the same. With a sudden rush, she wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders, greatly surprising Vereesa if the small yelp that came from her was anything to go by. The younger Elf responded in kind, encircling Sylvanas in a tight embrace. “Thank you, Little Moon.”

Sylvanas stepped back, a slight smile on her face, the heaviness on her heart still obvious but at least somewhat lessened. She stepped over the edge of Dalaran, allowing herself to fall briefly before transforming hallway to her Banshee form. It was just enough to propel her to the floating island and stride through the waiting portal. Vereesa watched the magic snap shut from Dalaran’s edge.

Her sister was completely unlike every story she’d heard of the Banshee Queen in all these years. Sylvanas was almost the same as she had been when Vereesa had last seen her before the Scourge had swept through their home, except for the obvious physical differences. Even those weren’t as shocking as Vereesa had expected them to be. Sylvanas’ eyes still shone with the same intelligence, cunning, and dare she think it, kindness. There were obviously two versions of Sylvanas. The one she had to be to lead the Forsaken, and the one that still existed from before. One led her new brethren with an iron fist, carving a home for them on Azeroth by any means necessary, even if it meant demonising herself in the eyes of everyone. The other, the Ranger General of Silvermoon reborn, still the same as she had been. Sylvanas had done what she had to.

Vereesa turned away, striding back inside Dalaran. She hoped she would see the second version of her sister again. She hoped Jaina would as well.


	7. Taking Down a Tyrant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Period: Six months after "It's Over"

**Plains, Kun-Lai Summit**

The tent was pleasantly warm in the early hours of the morning. The sun had yet to rise, still a couple of hours away. The two occupants sat by the fire, occasionally stoking it when it began to waver.

“Are you sure this is the best idea?” Jastana's voice caused the Orc sitting across from her to look up finally.

Granakk remained silent for several moments as he stared into the fire in front of him, “No. But I have to do it. For the Horde.”

“And not telling Sylvanas? You know how furious she'll be when you spring it on her?”

“I'll deal with the Dark Lady after it's over.”

“And if you lose?”

“I won't.” Jastana raised one of her long eyebrows at him. Granakk sighed, “Then I won’t have to worry about Sylvanas, will I?” He smiled, moving over to the opposite side of the fire and placing his huge arm around the relatively tiny shoulders of his Blood Elven best friend, “Hey come on, we've faced worse odds than this. We defeated the Lich King, didn’t we?”

Jastana looked up at the Orc, her glowing green eyes giving a completely deadpan stare, “He killed us both Granakk. We lost that fight.”

Granakk nodded sheepishly, “Okay, I’ll give you that... not the best example. But still, we've got this. Well, I’ve got this I suppose.”

“Promise me one thing.” Granakk remained silent, waiting for her to continue, “If you think you're going to fall, let me help. I can’t lose you again Granakk.”

“Jas, you know I can’t-”

The Blood Elf interrupted him, “Promise. Me.”

He stared down at Jastana, weighing that sort of promise in his head. He would have to do his best that he didn’t need to have her fulfil it. He couldn’t put that kind of burden on her. “I promise.”

“Good.” Jastana looked over the new markings that now adorned Granakk’s chest and arms, “And those? You aren’t actually intending on using that technique?”

Granakk sighed, “As a last resort. It’s just as likely to kill me as it is to help me, but if worse comes to worst…” He shrugged. The new adornments to his body would allow him to siphon nearly the entirety of the elemental power from his surroundings. The problem being, it would begin to tear his body apart from the sheer amount of energy coursing through him. It could only be maintained for a short time before it would definitely kill him. If Garrosh forced him to use it, it would mean the Warchief had gained immense power from whatever he’d been doing.

Jastana stood to her feet, moving behind the Orc and began to braid his long hair into his preferred battle style. Jastana was the only person he let do this, get this close to him. Aside from Sylvanas, she was the only person he trusted enough to have him in such a vulnerable position. Especially after what he'd endured post-Theramore. The scars of his torture still corded over his body, even now that he was back in fighting shape. He’d made sure he was even stronger than he was before Theramore, knowing he’d need to be if his plan was going to work. He knew it was foolhardy, but he was going to do it anyway. It was the only honourable thing he could do at this point.

Just as Jastana finished putting the last shamanic talisman into the braid, the flaps to their shared tent opened, letting in a visitor. Granakk got to his feet immediately, Jastana moving to stand beside him. They both bowed their head slightly as Sylvanas ducked into the tent and straightened up to her full height. Granakk noticed something was off with how the Dark Lady held herself as of late. He had not seen her very often in the last several months, but he knew something had changed. Something that put the Dark Lady into a dark mood, but not one that caused her to snap at people. It was something else. Something personal.

“Granakk. Jastana.” Sylvanas greeted them as her eyes scanned the tent, noticing every detail. Granakk’s twin greatswords waiting to be strapped to his back along with Jastana’s staff. Powerful weapons in the hands of the two of them. “Garrosh has been spotted in the Vale and we are to enter soon. The Alliance is gathering their forces nearby as well.” She turned her attention to the Blood Elf, “Jastana, if you could please let me speak with Granakk alone.”

“Of course, my lady.” Jastana didn’t even look worriedly up at Granakk like she used to do whenever Sylvanas asked to speak with him alone. Since helping the Undead Elf break him out from beneath Orgrimmar, Jastana had gained a new found respect and gratitude for Sylvanas. She used to dislike how Granakk treated her with such trust, but now somewhat understood it. Sylvanas protected what was hers and those who were loyal to her to the bitter end, though that was not how the Horde or the rest of the world saw her. Jastana had realised Sylvanas let her see the side of her that no one but a select few even knew about, and now served her willingly. Perhaps not quite as willing as Granakk, but still.

Sylvanas waited until Jastana had collected her things and left before speaking, “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Granakk had never been more prepared for anything than he was to go up against Garrosh. He retrieved his armour and began to strap it to himself.

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow, “Garrosh won’t go down without a fight. And he won’t be particularly happy seeing you.”

“Then he’ll make mistakes.” Granakk was through pretending that Garrosh wouldn’t likely be dead at the end of this. With any luck, he would be the one with his hands wrapped around the tyrant’s throat. “And I’m far stronger than I was at Theramore.”

Sylvanas nodded at the truth of his words. Granakk had spent the last several months training and doing little else. He was unable to assist the Horde in any capacity, even in helping with Garrosh’s few positive campaigns. He’d been absent from the Horde and Alliance’s plundering of Mogu’shan Vaults, from the defeat of the Mantid in the Heart of Fear and also from the joint assault on the island of the Thunder King. He’d been kept appraised of events by Jastana, but regrettably unable to provide any support for the Horde there.

His connection with the elements was now far greater than it ever had been. He’d sought out the Earthen Ring, convincing Thrall to train him once more, despite his apparent betrayal of the Horde. There were few shamans on Azeroth who could now claim to be more powerful than Granakk.

Granakk’s armour had been forged anew, both because of the fact that Garrosh had had it destroyed after Theramore as well as his muscular frame being even larger than before. His old armour would no longer have fit him even if he still had it. His twin greatswords were even larger, the blades without their hilts nearly coming to his shoulder when they stood straight up. Runes carved into all of equipment only further enhanced his strength, agility and elemental power.

Sylvanas had struggled to get such armour and weapons forged without tipping off any of Garrosh’s agents. She’d succeeded, having to personally kill three spies and order the deaths of another five. Garrosh had questioned the Dark Lady personally about it, but had no proof to accuse her with so had to relent. Even at the height of his power, Garrosh could not move against Sylvanas so obviously without some sort of evidence.

“The Alliance has agreed to a temporary cease fire until Garrosh is dealt with. The war may very well resume after Garrosh is defeated.” Sylvanas eyed Granakk, fairly certain the Mag’har had no intention of letting Garrosh live. “We must be ready to strike decisively if necessary.”

Granakk sighed, “This war needs to end. Nothing can be gained from a continued confrontation with the Alliance. But I will do what is needed for the Horde’s survival, if you command it, Sylvanas.”

“Agreed.” Granakk was surprised at Sylvanas’ agreement, but pleased as well.

Granakk moved, lifting his greatswords like they were paper onto his back. He stood to his full height, barely an inch below the roof of the tent. “Will Lady Proudmoore be assisting with the assault?”

The Orc instantly noticed the way Sylvanas’ ears drooped at the mention of the Human and the subtle tensing of her muscles. There was something wrong with Jaina it would seem. “I believe so, yes.” She lifted the flap of the tent, “Come, let us be off.”

Granakk followed, pondering the Dark Lady’s reaction. Something had definitely happened between her and Jaina. Something terrible by the looks of it. Granakk did not pry, he didn’t need to know anymore and it wasn’t his place to ask. It would not make what Granakk was planning to do any different. He had a funny feeling that it was to do with this war and specifically Garrosh. So, the quicker it was done, the quicker it might be able to be fixed. At least he hoped.

* * *

**Vale of Eternal Blossoms**

The assembled Alliance and Horde forces were nearly half way to Mogu’shan Palace, just outside the Shrine of Two Moons when it happened. They could just make out Garrosh’s figure push something into the pool of energy in the centre of the lake. That was when it all went wrong.

A huge pillar of Sha energy shot into the sky, eclipsing the sun in moments. The blackened sky seemed to intensify with ripples of power before finally, the lake all but exploded. All of the water evaporated in a blinding flash of light, a wall of radiating evil corrupting the landscape as it spread outwards. It passed the assembled armies, luckily having little effect on them, mages amongst the groups protecting them with giant barriers of arcane. Jastana was among the first to react in this way, the rest quickly following suit.

The power continued to blast away at the barrier, the mages holding strong. Finally, after more than ten minutes, the energy slowed and finally stopped, the mages able to drop their barrier. The devastation was immediately apparent. Much of the Vale had turned black, the sickness of the Sha permeated everything it had touched. Granakk growled his rage at another of Garrosh’s heinous crimes.

The Orc looked for the Warchief, only to find him gone. Garrosh had disappeared from their sight. He scanned the surrounding land, searching for any place he might have gone. His eyes fell on a doorway that must’ve been hidden beneath the water of the lake for centuries. “THERE!” His bellow caught the majority’s attention, all turning to see what he was pointing at. There was a round of agreement, that was where Garrosh must’ve gone. The assembled forces moved with purpose towards it.

* * *

**Sha of Pride’s Chamber, Vale of Eternal Blossoms**

Granakk summoned all of the power he could for one final attack. Lightning thundered down his arms and along the metal of his swords. Gale-force winds swept around him, almost forming tornadoes with every thundering step he took. While other heroes kept the huge Sha distracted, Granakk charged from behind, leaping high into the air.

With a roar that shock the very air around him, Granakk’s greatswords plunged into the back of the Sha of Pride’s head. Light poured from its wounds as the Orc pulled the weapons down, lengthening the cuts all the way down to nearly the floor. Granakk wrenched his weapons free, flipping through the air to land next to Jastana.

The shaman dropped his weapons, lifting his hands into the air and summoning two gigantic spikes of earth dripping with lava. The mage next to him summoned an enormous shaft of ice, fire and arcane energy whirling around the spear. They both roared their defiance of the evil in front of them, unleashing their attack upon it.

The Sha of Pride was unable to avoid either attack, taken off the ground and impaled into the far wall. What passed for its blood dripped to the ground of its chamber. “YOU’VE LET YOUR PRIDE CLOUD YOUR VISION, TITAN PUPPETS! YOU CAN NEVER CONTAIN ME!” It thrashed against its new bonds, shrieking its fury into the air.

“DIE FOUL CREATURE!” One of the Alliance paladins yelled straight back at the monstrosity.

The heroes in the chamber all gathered in the centre for one final attack, all of their power shining from them. Granakk roared out the command, “TOGETHER! TAKE IT DOWN!”

Spears of ice, balls of flame, bolts of lightning, lances of earth, spheres of pure light, bursts of chi, enchanted arrows, coils of death and even a lone axe crashed into the struggling Sha. Wounds from all over its body began to glow ominously, the Sha screaming in agony or anger, none of them were sure. The scream only grew louder as the seconds past, its almost liquid body writhing in every direction, becoming more unstable with every passing moment.

As the glow became more pronounced, Granakk yelled out, “GET DOWN!” They all protected themselves as best they could.

The Sha of Pride exploded in a cascading detonation of a huge magnitude. Every hero was taken from their feet, thrown across the chamber to slam into the far wall. They all collapsed in heaps to the ground, groaning at the many broken bones they’d received in that final attack from the Sha. Granakk got to one knee, glad to find he was not among the injured.

Healers swept into the chamber and began to tend to all those wounded, faction leaders soon following. Granakk watched as Jaina entered, the Human seeing him and hesitating to approach. She did not come over, instead offering a small smile and nod. Granakk returned the gesture, remaining on his knee while he caught his breath. Sylvanas soon followed, glancing at the Human mage before turning her back and approaching her champion. Granakk just caught the look of hurt and pain that flashed across Jaina’s face before she schooled it back to neutrality. The mage walked off before Granakk got another chance to look at her.

They’d entered the chamber to find a portal to Orgrimmar snap close right in front of them. When they’d attempted to follow, the Sha of Pride had made its presence known and attacked Azeroth’s Champions. Much of their group had retreated into the previous chamber, leaving the heroes to deal with the Sha.

“Any injuries?” Sylvanas’ words were surprisingly tender, but given that they still needed to get to Garrosh himself, the question wasn’t without motive aside from Granakk’s wellbeing.

Granakk grunted, “Nothing aside from a few bruises.” He rose to his feet, collecting his weapons from the floor nearby. “We need to get to Orgrimmar.”

Sylvanas nodded her head to the far side of the chamber where many mages were assembling, “I believe they’re dealing with that now.” As she said the words, a portal began to flicker to life, taking time to produce a large enough one for them all to travel through efficiently.

Granakk began to follow Sylvanas towards the materialising portal but stopped short when his eyes fell onto an object jutting from the floor a short distance away. His eyes widened as he approached, anger growing with every step. He seized the handle of what he now recognised to be an axe and wrenched it from where it had cracked the stone floor. He ran his hand over the familiar blade, his breathing quickening and heart-rate climbing as rage pulsed throughout his being.

Gorehowl shook in his hands as Granakk tried in vain to hold back his rage. “That disrespectful… _dishonourable_…”

Sylvanas approached, seeing the weapon in his hands and was unsure of why it was affecting him so. “Garrosh abandoned Gorehowl?”

Granakk’s head snapped to lock eyes with Sylvanas, the Elf slightly shocked to see the burning wrath that pounded from them, “He has thrown away the last scrap of honour he had. Abandoning this weapon is a slap in the face of his father. I will not accept such an insult to Grommash Hellscream’s memory.” He brandished the axe toward Sylvanas, “Garrosh is no Orc. He is not fit to call himself such. I had planned to offer him an honourable death. But now… now he will die screaming for mercy. And I will deny him. I will send him to the Twisting Nether beaten and broken, and he will know it was me.”

Sylvanas watched the Orc march away towards the portal, a little stunned by his reaction. She knew that the alternate timeline Grommash had been the one to train him, but Granakk had revealed little else about his past than that. The respect he held for Grommash ran deep, but he didn’t realise it ran this deep or that he held the same for her own timeline’s Grommash.

This revelation was a problem. It would make Granakk beyond angry, make him irrational. And in his anger, he may make mistakes. Sylvanas only hoped he would get a handle on his rage before it came time to face Garrosh himself. She knew some of the leaders would want Garrosh dead while others would want him put on trial. If Granakk was still so filled with rage by the time they found the Warchief, he would make a mistake he couldn’t take back. He would kill someone trying to stop him and be cut down for it. Sylvanas needed to calm him, somehow.

* * *

**Orgrimmar’s Depths**

The last Paragon of the Klaxxi released its death wail as Granakk ripped his sword from its gut. He shook the weapon, the insectoid blood flinging off it onto the ground. He’d been told the Klaxxi had been allies against the Empress of their kind when the Horde and Alliance had stormed the Heart of Fear. But now that their former master Y’shaarj’s heart had been found, they had flocked to its wielder. Joining Garrosh in his insanity had sentenced them to death the moment they had rallied to the Warchief cause.

They’d fought across Orgrimmar’s docks, broken through the front gates themselves and descended into the huge facility that Garrosh had built beneath the city. They’d come across monstrosities that Garrosh had bound to his will and the few that still followed the Warchief. Granakk was amazed at how much had changed since he’d last been down here. He saw what he knew to be the way to his old cell, tempted to follow it and see the tiny space he’d been kept in for months. He’d decided against it, not particularly wanting to relive those memories right now.

Only a short tunnel now blocked their passage from Garrosh himself. They all knew it would be filled with the most loyal of Garrosh’s soldiers, but Granakk was almost hesitant to enter. They would have to slaughter every single Orc beyond those doors before they got to the Warchief, and Granakk knew many of them were only following Garrosh because he was the Warchief. General Nazgrim had been proof of that, one of the few Orcs who Granakk felt still retained his honour while fighting for Garrosh. He protected his Warchief to the bitter end, and was proud to die for him. Granakk could respect Nazgrim, he could respect devotion to a cause, even if that cause was dishonourable.

Granakk had calmed down significantly since the death of the Sha of Pride. Both Sylvanas and Jastana had convinced him that his rage, while serving him well in actual fighting, would only hinder in dealing with Garrosh. He held onto his wrath at the disrespect Garrosh had shown his own father, but tempered it with enough wisdom to clear his sight and mind. He would still fight Garrosh if his plan went ahead, but he would fight effectively and hopefully triumph.

The Champions of Azeroth gathered in front of the final set of doors, preparing to charge. Orc grunts and Human squires stood at either door, preparing to open them and leap aside for the Champions to thunder through.

Granakk ran ahead of the group as soon as the doors swung aside, slamming his foot down and shattering the earth beneath him into pieces, forcing many of his adversaries to the ground. Some were screaming as their legs broke from the shattered earth changing form, Granakk ending their suffering as quickly as he could. He was soon joined by the other Champions, carving their path through the enemy and towards their final goal.

They all made short work of the Orcs arrayed against them, coming to what Granakk was hoping was the last obstruction to their true goal. The forces arrayed against Garrosh broke through that last door, coming into what appeared to be a much larger version of Grommash Hold high above them. Granakk’s eyes were instantly drawn to the man who he had so much hatred for.

Garrosh lounged on a throne on the far side, below them and across the room. Granakk saw a corrupted image of Gorehowl, resting on the arm of his throne. Its purple and blue surface were covered with eyes, blinking every so often. Garrosh had given up a legendary weapon for this abomination, an affront to the very memory of the man who had wielded its unblemished mirror image.

Granakk knew that there would be trouble if Garrosh saw him too soon, so pulled a hood he’d added to his armour specifically for this event over his head, obscuring his face enough that Garrosh would not immediately recognise him. He strode forward with the rest of the crowd, stopping at the edge of the platform and the large drop to the floor of this throne room.

Granakk heard a loud beat and a few seconds later, another. He craned his neck up, staring in awe at the giant purple heart suspended above them. The Heart of Y’Shaarj. The new source of Garrosh’s insanity and most likely, his power.

Garrosh lazily lifted his head to look at them all, “Ah… finally here. Took you long enough.” He laughed, “Have you come to stop me? To tell me I’ve committed crimes and must answer for them?” He stood from the throne, taking up his corrupted weapon and holding over his shoulder as he walked down the steps, “YOU SUPPOSED HORDE CHAMPIONS WHO WOULD SULLY YOURSELF WITH THIS ALLIANCE FILTH?! WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME?! YOU, WHO HAVE BETRAYED YOUR VERY PEOPLE!”

Before anyone could stop him, Thrall leapt off the edge, landing hard on the ground. “GARROSH!” The Warchief turned his gaze on the former-Warchief. “It is not too late. Lay down the mantle of Warchief. We can end this here and now, with no further bloodshed!” Granakk was shocked at Thrall’s offer. He had thought the shaman shared the same viewpoint as him, that Garrosh needed to pay for his crimes with blood, but here he was offering peace. But then again, he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Thrall had always counselled peace wherever he could, even to mortal enemies. It was what made him such a great Warchief.

Garrosh stared at Thrall before he began to laugh, “HA! Do you remember nothing of honour? Of glory on the battlefield? You who would parlay with the Humans, who allowed warlocks to practice their dark magics right under our feet. You. Are. WEAK.” Venom and hatred dripped off the last word. He held up his hands, brandishing his axe, “We are the Orcish Horde, the TRUE Horde. We die, bloody and thrashing on the field of battle, like true Orcs SHOULD!” Garrosh pointed the weapon squarely at the centre of Thrall’s chest, “You are an Orc no longer, and speak for none but yourself. You betrayed our people to forge your fragile alliances, and I will take great pleasure in tearing them APART.”

Thrall seemed almost disappointed at Garrosh’s reaction to his offer. Granakk wasn’t sure if Thrall actually thought the offer of peace would entice Garrosh or not, but if he did, he was a fool. Garrosh would never give in and it seemed Thrall was finally accepting that. The green Orc sighed, “Then you have forced my hand. I will correct the mistake I made long ago.” He drew Doomhammer from his side, holding it aloft, “SPIRITS OF THE WIND, THE EARTH, THE WATER, HEAR MY CALL!! COME TO MY AID!” Granakk felt the elements surge into Thrall, but he instantly knew it would not be enough. Not for what Garrosh had become.

Garrosh’s laughter at Thrall’s display echoed through the room, “FOOL! My dark shaman have twisted and tortured the elements for miles around. They cannot hear you now! Once again you prove too weak and powerless to do ANYTHING!” A purple mist began to surround Thrall and the elements drew back from the Orc. Granakk watched in shock as the elements were too weak to do anything for him.

With power that seemed to surge from nowhere, lightning exploded outwards from Thrall, dissipating the foul mist instantly, “NEVER POWERLESS GARROSH! AND NEVER ALONE!”

Garrosh’s eyes narrowed, “So, you wish to face off against a real Orc Warchief.” He spat on the ground in disgust, “So be it.”

Both Warchief and former-Warchief released their battle cries, charging at one another, meeting close to Garrosh’s throne. They traded heavy blows, Garrosh slowly forcing Thrall back with his more savage strikes. Granakk watched the fight with great interest, quickly realising that Thrall had none of the elements backing in this battle. He was fighting Garrosh with brute strength alone, something the Warchief had far more of. Every blow of Garrosh’s was blocked but they were knocking Thrall back at least a step every single time.

Thrall barely saw the last blow coming, a savage upwards strike that impacted onto Doomhammer with a deafening sound. The shaman was thrown from his feet and clear across the room, crashing into the ground and rolling several metres before finally coming to a stop. He struggled to one knee, trying and failing to rise. That last hit had completely knocked the wind from his lungs.

Garrosh snarled out, “Pathetic. Just like I thought. You aren’t even fit to _stand_ against me.”

Granakk closed his eyes, focusing all of his power for the battle to come. He would need all of it if he was to succeed. He felt the elements responding, giving him the power that they’d denied Thrall. It coursed through his veins, setting him ablaze with strength like nothing he’d ever known. He turned his head nodding at Jastana, the Blood Elf only able to nod back. She’d already argued this plan with him and knew there was nothing that would dissuade him from it now.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at Granakk’s back, suspicious of the power he was building up within himself. She’d been wondering what plan he had for dealing with Garrosh, an inkling of an idea spreading through their shared connection. She knew she was about to bear witness to whatever Granakk was going to do and that she was almost definitely not going to like it.

“NONE OF YOU ARE FIT TO-”

A huge shape in black plate landed next to Thrall, rising to their feet. Garrosh stared at the figure who dared to interrupt him in his hour of victory. Thrall looked up at the man, realising who it was even as he strode away towards Garrosh. He reached up, tearing the hood from his armour and revealing his identity to Garrosh.

“Ah… the Banshee’s BITCH.” Garrosh laughed as he took Granakk in, “I was wondering where you’d gone. Sylvanas’ little escape plan was not as smart as that freak thought it was. I knew who took you the whole time. I’ve been waiting to see when you might pop up again, and now… here you are.” Garrosh took a few steps forward, “Here to stand before me, whelp? Swear your loyalty because you’ve realised, you’re on the wrong side? Join the true Orcs?”

Granakk’s face twisted with rage, “No. I am here to challenge you.” He pulled his weapons free, letting them sit in his hands for a few moments before drawing back and piercing both into the earth in front of him. “GARROSH HELLSCREAM, I, GRANAKK, CHAMPION OF THE HORDE AND DEFENDER OF AZEROTH, CHALLENGE YOU TO MAK’GORA!”

The entire room fell silent. Even the sounds from the hallways they’d crossed to get here seemed to recede into nothing. Garrosh stared incredulously at the Mag’har in front of him. He remained silent for several moments, letting the challenge sink in. His booming laughter erupted from his throat like a volcano, “_You_? Challenge _ME_? You think you are worthy to be Warchief?!” He spat out the words towards the shaman.

Sylvanas surged to the front of the crowd, looking down at Granakk with wide eyes. The fool was going to get himself killed. Single combat with Garrosh was likely as likely to end in Granakk’s death as it was Garrosh’s. What was the Orc thinking?

“More worthy than you, traitor!”

Garrosh growled at the insult, “You aren’t fit to be beneath my boot. You have no place in my Horde! You betrayed the Horde when you saved that fucking Human.”

“And you shame your father’s name with everything you’ve done!” Granakk could see his words had the desired effect, Garrosh nostril’s flaring in anger, “You dishonour everything he ever stood for if you deny my Mak’gora!”

Garrosh roared his next words, “SO BE IT! I ACCEPT! AND NO ONE MAY INTEFERE, LEST THEY BRING DISHONOUR ON THEMSELVES AND SUBMIT TO EXECUTION.”

“Fine by me.” The crowd above them exploded with shouts of outrage from some and concerned whispers from others.

Sylvanas was at Granakk’s side in moments, grabbing the Mag’har’s arm and dragging him out of Garrosh’s earshot, “What the fuck are you thinking? This is exactly what I told you not to do! You’re going to get yourself killed, and for what?”

Granakk bowed his head, “For the Horde.”

Sylvanas watched as the Orc moved away, back to the weapons he had impaled into the ground. He took hold of the hilts, removing them from it and readying himself for the fight to come. Sylvanas saw that there was no chance to stop him from fighting Garrosh now, no way to prevent the Mak’gora. All she could do was watch. She flew back up to the balcony above, standing with her arms folded and waited for the battle to begin.

Garrosh and Granakk stared at each other, beginning to circle around the room, searching for an opening in defence and daring the other to attack first. The only sound was the beating of the Heart of Y’Shaarj above them and the slight rattling of armour as they moved. They both stopped in place, putting all their weight onto their back foot and finally charged.

Both swung at the same time, axe and swords crashing together. They separated just as quickly as they’d joined, trading flurries of quick strikes. Lightning ran along Granakk’s swords, sending a jolt of electricity through Garrosh’s axe with every blow. The Warchief didn’t seem to notice, continuing without a hint of pain or discomfort. He swung straight down towards Granakk’s head, the Mag’har raising his blades and catching the axe between them. He only managed to stop the axe blade when it was barely an inch from the top of his head.

Granakk bared his teeth, pushing up with his might. He sent Garrosh stumbling back a step, immediately capitalising on the momentary lack of defence. He drove the Warchief across the arena, his blades blurs in the air as they sliced through it. Garrosh was good, getting his defence up just in time to prevent injury. The axe blocked each strike only to have to pivot for the next one. Garrosh broke through Granakk’s own defence, his fist colliding with the centre of Granakk’s face. The Mag’har felt the tell-tale warmth of blood coming from his nose, but got himself straight back into the fight without a moment’s hesitation.

Sylvanas could see neither of the two Orcs had a clear advantage. At one moment, it was Granakk, the next, Garrosh. She continued to watch until she felt something strange. Warm, thick liquid ran down her upper lip, dripping onto her chest armour. Her hand went to her nose, gauntlet coming away with blood staining the tips of her fingers. She looked down, seeing that Granakk had the very same injury. But he’d just been punched in the face, where as she was safe, not even close to the fight. How had his injury come to her? Was this something to do with their shared connection ever since Icecrown?

No one around her seemed to notice Sylvanas’ distress at the situation. The only one was far off, a white-haired Human mage’s eyes rapidly switching between the Elf and the Orc fighting below. Jaina had felt something pass between the two but could not understand how it had. There was no truly tangible bond between the two, and sharing of injuries was not a common side effect even if there was. Jaina couldn’t fathom what had happened, opting to switch her attention back to the fight.

Finally, Granakk saw his chance. He sliced faster than Garrosh could defend, opening a long but shallow cut across the Warchief’s chest. As he hissed his pain, Garrosh did not defend against the next blow either, Granakk’s foot catching him in the centre of his chest and sending him sprawling across the ground. Garrosh managed to look up just in time, rolling out of the way from where Granakk landed, cracking the ground beneath him with both blades. Lightning flared away from the impact point, dissipating before it got to Garrosh himself.

Both climbed back to their feet, Granakk tearing his weapons from the ground and holding them aloft once more. Garrosh reclaimed his axe from where it had fallen, standing tall despite the blood running down his chest from his wound. Granakk watched in horror as Sha energy pulsed from the axe, travelling along Garrosh’s arm and finally across his chest. The wound slowly sealed itself, leaving behind a pulsating line of corrupted but healed flesh. Garrosh was using the Old God’s power to heal himself and bolster his own strength. Granakk realised he would have to relieve Garrosh of the weapon or he would just continue to heal until Granakk himself was unable to continue to fight.

Granakk switched his tactics, sheathing his weapons on his back and charging lightning bolts in his hands, unleashing a barrage upon Garrosh. The Warchief was ready, using his axe to turn aside every attack. Lightning struck the walls and the roof as Granakk continued to unload into the Warchief. Singe marks soon dotted everywhere, but neither combatant relented.

Thrall followed the battle with sorrow. He’d personally taught Garrosh how to fight against a shaman, and despite Granakk’s power and his prowess as a warrior aside from his shamanic abilities, Garrosh was defending perfectly. He could see that Garrosh would not let a single one of Granakk’s attacks through, no matter what was thrown at him. Granakk would have to combine both his shaman and warrior abilities to have a chance to defeat Garrosh.

Garrosh began to take steps forward, closing in on Granakk’s position. The lightning bolts flew even faster, only managing to slow Garrosh’s advance. He finally got within range, swinging his axe around, intending to catch Granakk in the side.

Faster than Garrosh could see, Granakk stopped his attack, pivoted and caught the blade in both hands, bringing it to a stop well away from his body. He grinned, “Too slow.” Granakk surged forward, his plated elbow swung around and crashing into Garrosh’s jaw. He tore the corrupted Gorehowl from Garrosh’s hands, tossing the weapon as far as he could with distaste.

Granakk advanced on Garrosh, punching every part he could get his fists to. He felt ribs give way under his blows, slamming Garrosh’s hands away when he attempted to defend. Getting both hands behind Garrosh’s head, the shaman’s knee slammed into the Warchief’s gut, knocking the wind out of him and his body to the earth. He kicked straight up, catching the Warchief under his chin and taking him from the ground, flying backwards till he landed some ways away.

Garrosh groaned as he got to his feet, body now slick with blood from where Granakk’s plate armour had cut into his skin. He spat out a tooth along with a not insignificant amount of blood, “You’ve gotten stronger. Good. It’ll feel even better when I snap your pathetic neck.”

Granakk narrowed his eyes when he saw the flash of Old God corruption in Garrosh’s. He had wanted to wait till he was nearly done with Garrosh to do this, but now was as good a time as any. He reached up over his shoulder, hand sliding past his greatsword’s hilt and grabbed hold of another. He drew Gorehowl out, holding it up over his head. “You are a disgrace Garrosh. You have betrayed the entire Horde and sullied your father’s legacy. I will correct that with Grommash’s own weapon.”

“You are not fit to wield Gorehowl!”

“You lost the right to decide that when you tossed it aside.”

Garrosh roared, charging Granakk despite his injuries. The Mag’har charged too, slapping one of Garrosh’s fists aside with the flat of Gorehowl’s blade. Garrosh continued to attack, every fist either dodged or nullified. Granakk pressed his non-injured advantage, forcing Garrosh back as he twirled Gorehowl through the air, the axe creating music as it sliced. Garrosh barely managed to dodge the axe, on the back foot the entire time.

Granakk kicked out at Garrosh’s knee, cracking the bone beneath and forcing the Warchief to stumble backwards. Garrosh saw the blade coming but could do nothing to stop it. Granakk screamed with rage as Gorehowl hurtled towards Garrosh’s right side. With two hands on the hilt, the shaman imbedded Gorehowl deep into Garrosh, slicing through muscle and flesh like they were paper. Blood filled the air as it flowed like a river from Garrosh’s side, staining the floor and forming a pool beneath him. He coughed, blood spattering onto Granakk’s plate.

Granakk looked down at the Warchief with disgust, Garrosh pulling in a shuddering breath while still on his knees. Granakk pulled his right hand back, keeping his left on the hilt of Gorehowl. “You have slaughtered innocents in the name of the Horde. You, Garrosh, have destroyed the very foundation of what it means to be part of the Horde.” His right fist snapped Garrosh’s head sideways, a spray of blood accompanying the strike. “THIS IS FOR THE INNOCENTS!” Another blow. “THIS IS FOR THERAMORE!” He punched again, “THIS IS FOR MY TORTURE!” Garrosh’s cheek was broken with the next blow, “YOU DISHONOURABLE, DISRESPECTFUL, WARMONGERING, DISGRACEFUL, UNWORTHY, PITIFUL, EVIL,” Every blow was punctuated by another punch across Garrosh’s face. Granakk would not let the Warchief fall to the ground even as he made a ruin of his face, worsening with every blow. He reared back for the final blow, summoning the elements to him. Earth came up from the floor, wrapping around Granakk’s fist until it was more than double the size that it normally was. As he swung down, he ripped Gorehowl from Garrosh’s body, blood spraying out into the air as his fist rushed towards the Warchief’s face, “MONSTER!”

Granakk’s blow connected, the earth and rock around it shattering as it did. Garrosh’s entire body was lifted from the ground, the grievous wound in his side widening even further, enough for some of his organs to be seen through the cut. He tumbled through the air, colliding with the ground and rolling to a stop. His face was almost unrecognisable, his side spilling his lifeblood to the ground in huge amounts.

“YOU ARE WEAK GARROSH! YOU CANNOT EVEN STAND AGAINST ME!” Granakk took thundering steps towards the Warchief.

The Mag’har froze in his stride as laughter filled the room. Broken, haunting laughter rising from Garrosh’s form. The Warchief slowly rose to his feet, clutching at his side and attempting to hold his body together. “You are _nothing_. I. Am. WARCHIEF!” He stuck one arm out, every soul in the throne room watching in horror as the corrupted Gorehowl rattled across the floor before it finally left the ground and slapped into Garrosh’s palm. His wounds began to fix themselves with more of the Old God corruption. His jaw realigned, a grotesque growth consuming one side of his face and continuing over his back. The giant laceration in his side sucked in the blood around it, sealing over completely. Garrosh’s muscles grew larger as the Old God’s energy flowed through him and warped his body into a foul version of its former self. “I AM THE TRUE HORDE!”

Granakk looked on, watching as the deformed Garrosh formed in front of him. Much of his body was now covered in the same blue and purple flesh that made up his weapon. Huge all-seeing and blinking eyes sprang up everywhere, all trained on the shaman. He showed no fear, tossing the real Gorehowl to Thrall up in the balcony. The former-Warchief caught the axe, shocked that Granakk had given it up. Granakk drew his greatswords, staring down Garrosh, “Then the True Horde must die.”

Garrosh snarled only once before sprinting straight at his foe. Granakk was ready, meeting the axe swung at him with his own weapons. Garrosh strikes were fast, but full of rage. They were inaccurate, attempting to batter down Granakk’s defences with sheer quantity. Granakk punished Garrosh for his arrogance, slipping through his defences again and again, slicing away at Garrosh’s malformed body. Every wound healed up and corrupted Garrosh a little further.

Their weapons met in the middle, neither able to push back against the other. The Old God power surging through Garrosh’s veins gave him far greater strength than his body had, but Granakk had the elements on his side. The earthen elementals gave him strength, and the air gave him speed. Lightning and wind surged away from the shaman as he pushed back against Garrosh. Dark power pulsated from Garrosh as he pushed right back.

Granakk didn’t notice his surroundings until it was too late. Garrosh had been surrounding them both with the Old God’s power while still fighting against his foe. He was now trapped with the Warchief in a sphere of darkness, the surrounding room disappearing from view as it thickened. As it completely vanished, he swore he heard a scream.

“GRANAKK!” Jastana screamed out as she leapt off the balcony, only slowing her descent when her feet were barely a foot from the ground. She summoned a storm of ice, pounding against the writhing purple sphere that now dominated the centre of the room. The attack simply melted as it came close, not denting it in the slightest. She threw fire at it in vain, only to watch it fizzle out. Her arcane spells puttered out and dissipated as they came close. Out of options she sprinted at it, swinging her staff down at it. The moment the crystal on top came into contact, Jastana was thrown away from it, landing hard on the ground.

Sylvanas joined her on the floor, helping the Blood Elf up, “There’s nothing you can do to help him.”

Jastana knew the Dark Lady was right, but it didn’t stop her worrying, “He promised he’d let me help if Garrosh was too much.”

“Interrupting a Mak’gora will only get you killed.”

The Blood Elf nodded, staring at the purple sphere of Old God power. Both Granakk and Garrosh had been swallowed up by it, their power couldn’t even be felt from within. They’d disappeared completely.

* * *

**Ruined Stormwind**

Both Orcs were thrown away from each other as they were teleported into their new surroundings. Granakk was on his feet as fast as he could be, eyes widening as he scanned around. He recognised Stormwind, but something was wrong. Old God corruption had spread over everything, evidence of a great battle. Skeletons were strewn about on the ground, many still in armour. Both Alliance and Horde were there.

“THIS IS THE FUTURE.” Granakk’s head snapped to look at Garrosh, “THIS IS WHAT I PROMISE FOR THE HORDE! THE DESTRUCTION OF OUR ENEMIES! THE ALLIANCE DEAD AND GONE!”

“This is madness Garrosh!” Granakk couldn’t believe, even after all he’d seen of the Warchief, that Garrosh truly wanted this, “You would commit genocide and let the Old Gods ravage Azeroth once more! I would rather die than be a part of this!”

“THAT CAN BE ARRANGED!” Garrosh growled out his response before charging and leaping with a two-handed swing down of his weapon.

Granakk rolled out of the way, Garrosh’s axe cleaving the earth in two and sending a line of destruction rushing away from him. Corruption spewed forth from the shallow chasm he’d made, adding to everything around them. Garrosh was on him in an instant, swinging the axe with reckless abandon. Granakk expertly parried every blow, responding with a few of his own. With every one of his attacks that made it through Garrosh’s guard, the Warchief became more ferocious, stronger and faster. Corruption seeped from every pore in Garrosh’s body.

He knew he had to end this fight fast. It wouldn’t be long before Garrosh was able to overwhelm him with his ever-increasing strength. Granakk called out to the elements, hoping they would respond. He just barely felt a response, weaker than he’d ever felt it. He latched onto it, drawing all that he could into his body. Granakk had hoped to avoid using elemental power like this, but he had no choice. If Garrosh was going to completely rely on external forces to defeat him, he should do the same.

The elements increased the flow of power into Granakk’s power, beginning to fill him up for what he needed. The runes along his greatswords and on his armour began to glow, all the while trading blows with the Warchief in front of him. Granakk begged the elementals for more, even in this ravaged landscape. It only took a few moments for them to respond. Granakk wasn’t sure if Garrosh had actually transported them into the future, one in which he continued his rampage across Azeroth or if this was just some vision of a possiblity. It didn’t matter, the elements still responded to his call.

Granakk caught the axe between his blades, spinning in place and slamming an elbow into Garrosh’s gut. The Warchief grunted and took a step back. The Mag’har brought both blades down in that instant, each piercing deep into Garrosh’s shoulders. He wrenched them free, using the flat of both swords to smack Garrosh in the chest. The Warchief was taken from his feet and his corrupted blood sprayed in the air as he landed on the ground. Granakk released the largest blast of lightning he could, throwing Garrosh even further away. He needed time for this.

The shaman summoned everything he could, strength streaming into his body. Granakk let loose a roar, his eyes now beginning to glow with lightning. His armour felt constricting, reaching up and removing his pauldrons. He’d only planned on using this power as a last resort, knowing he could only maintain it for a short time. His chest armour and gauntlets came next, leaving Granakk bare from the waist up.

Garrosh got back to his feet, his new wounds sealing over and preparing to attack Granakk once more. He stopped short at the sight. Granakk stood before him, blinding power radiating off of him. Tattoos that covered his chest and arms now shone with barely restrained elemental power. He had shed his armour, letting his power loose upon the surroundings. The ground cracked and the air was charged with electricity. Garrosh watched as the shining intensified and felt Granakk’s power rise even further. Finally, it stopped, Granakk lowering his head to look at Garrosh.

Granakk could feel his shamanic power burning through his entire being. Every moment was agony, but he needed this if he was to stop Garrosh. He’d learned how to do it from the Earthen Ring, but had been cautioned to never use it. Using the elements in this way would ravage his body and possibly kill him in the process. But he knew he needed to, no matter the cost.

“What have you done?” Garrosh’s confusion was expected. There was no way he’d ever seen a shaman like this.

Granakk smiled, “Ensured my victory.” His voice came out as a booming echo, almost causing an earthquake with its force. He took one step and to Garrosh’s eyes, was already upon him. Granakk’s fist flew, breaking Garrosh’s jaw on impact. The punch was quickly followed by gale-force winds, slicing at the corrupted Warchief’s body. With every cut, Garrosh retreated further across the tainted ground.

Granakk remained where he was, summoning wind and lightning to strike at Garrosh from afar. The Warchief could do nothing to defend against his onslaught. Granakk stomped one foot down, earth spikes rushing from the ground, piercing Garrosh’s body from multiple directions and holding him fast.

The Warchief swung down, shattering the spears preventing his movement, charging straight for Granakk. He managed to dodge each of the spikes as they came from beneath him, breaking some when they got too close. He leapt into the air, coming down hard at Granakk. The shaman seemed to not even see him coming.

The next thing Garrosh knew, the blade of his axe was in Granakk’s hands, stopped from even giving the shaman a tiny nick on his palms. He struggled to pull it free, putting every ounce of muscle he had into it, finding that it was impossible. “You lose, Garrosh.” Granakk tore the axe away from Garrosh’s grip, transferring the weapon to one hand and punching Garrosh in the centre of the chest. With the Warchief out of reach, Granakk placed one hand at the end of the blade and the other at the end of the hilt.

Granakk grunted with effort and began his attempt to break the weapon. His muscles flexed with every single one of them being forced to their maximum. He summoned all of the strength from the earth that was currently fuelling his every cell. A thundering bellow split from his lips as the axe bent under his might. Garrosh got to his feet from where he had landed, “NO!” He began his approach too late. With one last roar, the weapon split in two, releasing a detonation of gigantic proportions. The energy from within formed into a wave of destruction, carving through everything in its path.

Granakk stayed where he was, the two halves of Garrosh’s axe falling apart in his hands. The axe had been completely made of the corruption of the Old God Y’Shaarj, not a single piece of actual metal in its form. Garrosh was thrown away one last time, staring at the still glowing shaman who’d beaten him. The corruption from his body melted away, leaving the Orc as he was before. Granakk took thundering steps towards him, uttering only one word. “YIELD!”

Garrosh attempted to back away, only to be seized by the throat and lifted into the air. Granakk tightened his grip and began to choke Garrosh before slamming him into the ground. The air rushed out of his lungs, the shaman above him placing his foot on the Warchief’s chest.

“YIELD!” His foot pushed down, bending bones inwards. He stopped, looking up. Everything around them was unstable, the very air itself beginning to tear apart. Granakk backed away, not worried in the slightest if Garrosh attacked him. There was nothing the Warchief could do to him now. He scanned for an opening and found it. A rift in the centre of the open space, the throne room beneath Orgrimmar visible through it. He marched back over to the Warchief, grabbing him by the foot and dragging him across the ground. With barely a hint of effort, Granakk tossed the other Orc through, before stepping through himself.

* * *

**Orgrimmar’s Depths**

Jastana watched the sphere as it began to crack, bright white light pouring from it. The cracks spread further, widening and blinding the assembled crowd. Something flew from out of it, rolling across the floor before stopping a short way away from the sphere near the throne. Garrosh, bereft of the corruption that had ravaged his body before.

With a blast, the sphere vanished, leaving the room free of its poisonous influence. In its place stood Granakk, still pulsing with elemental power, back to the crowd. The power only seemed to increased now that he was back into his actual reality, every marking on his body unstable. He stared down at Garrosh, “YIELD!” The word echoed in the space, the Warchief struggling to his knees. He looked like he might refuse for a moment, but bowed his head in defeat.

Cheering erupted from the crowd, rushing down to the floor. Granakk turned away, every step painful. Thrall nodded at him, knowing what the shaman had done to defeat the Warchief. Granakk only made it a few more steps before he had to release all of the elemental power that was still in his body. He immediately collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath. The glow disappeared from his body, his arms sagging to the ground. Jastana was by his side in moments, getting under one of his arms and offering what support she could to his giant frame.

Sylvanas was only able to take a few steps toward Granakk before she was hit with a wave of overwhelming exhaustion. She fell to one knee, none of the men and women around her noticing. She found herself barely able to stand back up, her confusion only increased with every passing moment. She didn’t get tired. She’d never been exhausted or even slightly tired since being raised as a banshee. Something was wrong with her, and it had to do with her bond with Granakk, she was sure of it. She looked up at the Orc, currently sitting against the wall far from the throne with Jastana beside him. They needed to figure out what was going on.

There was only a single person in the entire space who’d noticed Sylvanas’, if very brief, collapse. Jaina couldn’t tear her eyes away from the Undead Elf. She knew Sylvanas better than anyone else, and with all she knew and had seen, she’d never seen this. She didn’t think it was possible. She could feel a strangled connection between her ex-lover and the Mag’har. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt. Their fates were bound together somehow. She was extremely tempted to try and go see Sylvanas, but decided this wasn’t the best setting, especially with what she was about to suggest to King Varian.

Granakk barely heard the exchange over Garrosh’s fate as it went on. He watched as Taran Zhu led him away, the defeated Warchief glancing at Granakk with hatred in his eyes. The shaman paid him no mind, preferring to ignore the other brown-skinned Orc now that he was dealt with. He listened as Vol’jin was made Warchief, saw that Sylvanas neither agreed nor disagreed with the decision. He heard Jaina wanting to dismantle the Horde, disappointed with her. He knew Sylvanas had spoken to Jaina about that particular desire, trying to tell her it was only likely to lead to more war. Granakk was thankful that King Wrynn was more level-headed, promising peace as long as Vol’jin kept it.

Portals began to open on the opposite side of the room as the Alliance prepared to leave. The Alliance Champions and regular soldiers were the first to leave, the Leaders staying for a few more minutes. One by one, they all walked through the portals, until only Jaina was left. Granakk kept her eyes on the Human mage, sensing that she was either about to do something stupid or downright dangerous. Perhaps it would be both.

Jaina checked her surroundings, making sure no one was watching her. She didn’t notice Granakk. The mage made it look as though she walked through the portal, quickly blinking to the side and out of sight of the Horde forces. The portal that it had appeared she walked through shut itself with a snap, the Horde believing they were now alone. Granakk felt it as she cast an invisibility spell and made her way out of the throne room.

Despite Jastana’s protests that he wasn’t recovered enough to start moving, he climbed to his feet and began to follow Lady Proudmoore. Knowing that it would be bad if he were to be seen talking to the Human, he asked Jastana not to follow him and set off. He could just barely make out Jaina’s footprints on the floor among the jumble of others, but managed to track her through the halls. He quickly realised where she was heading and tried to speed up. He needed to find her before some other member of the Horde did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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